Leo and Purgatory
by catchpenny
Summary: Sirius Black died with a secret: an illegitimate son named Leo. A dangerous fugitive believed to be be dead, Leo is forced to kidnap Hermione and drags her into his mess of lies and deceit, while she struggles to save him from the person he's become. AU
1. Sirius?

**Ok, ok, don't shoot me, but I've abandoned The Eighth Horcrux for now. It's just that I like the idea so much and I don't want to ruin it with my inexperience writing fanfics, so I'm going to experiment with this for now, maybe some oneshots before I go back to it. But don't expect an update on that one any time soon.  
**

**Maybe I'm just ADD. But I was really really inspired the other day so I'm just going to take this and run with it, so enjoy! I know this chapter's short, but it's really just a teaser anyway to see what people think of the idea. So, feedback would be great, please and thank you =]**

* * *

Hermione continued to stare at the entrance to the apothecary.

Now that she was finally there, taking in the dingy shop with narrowed, apprehensive eyes, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to be. In fact, she could readily think of ten other places she'd rather be standing in front of.

A small trap door with a snarling, three-headed dog came to mind.

She twisted a ringlet of honey-brown hair around her finger, pulled it straight and let it bounce back to its original form, absentmindedly... nervous habit. She counted the cobblestones leading up to the rough wooden door, anything to keep her standing in the middle of Knockturn Alley just a little longer.

Who had convinced her to take an internship at the Ministry anyway? It certainly hadn't been her own decision. For once she had been able to recognize how mentally destructive that workload would be to her, alongside studying for her N.E.W.T.s, and dealing with the constant threat of Voldemort that was multiplied tenfold in being associated with Harry and the Order.

Naturally she might have turned to other means of coping.

She sighed listlessly. She _looked _interview-ready now, in the stylish dragonhide ankle-boots that Tonks had loaned her, in her black stockings and figure-flattering tweed shift that ended mid-thigh, in her most expensive woven cloak whose lapel had a silver Ministry pin stuck neatly into the seam.

But she hardly _felt_ interview-ready. Stress had always been a part of her life, yes. Stress meant you were taking responsibility. Stress kept your mind active, stress forced excellence. But this unbridled pressure she felt was crippling her.

Her only visible way out had not been immoral. It wasn't an addiction, at first.

She turned her attention back to the looming storefront. The door was slightly off its hinges, she observed, and the single shop window was cracked in the upper left-hand corner. A thin film of grime on the outside of the glass blurred the silhouette of whatever was being displayed.

_Stop it, Hermione. You've come this far. You've gotten through three months, what's one more day?  
_

Three long, excruciating, tense months…

She felt the familiar heat as it crept up her cheeks, worked behind her eyes, built pressure. Her throat constricted.

_Stop it. STOP IT!_

She blinked up towards the sky, inhaled sharply. The threat of tears subsided after a moment of contemplating the heavy, gray clouds. A decision was made and she stepped forward, raking her nails through her curls in one last desperate gesture. With her lips pursed involuntarily, she closed the distance between her and the wooden apothecary door. It was just a Peace Draught. One little Peace Draught and she could compose herself, she knew.

_Powdered moonstone. Powdered moonstone. Powdered moonstone._

She grabbed the rusting handle and pulled.

**PING.**

A barrage of smells met her first, familiar and unfamiliar, sour and sweet. A leathery, kind of old-fashioned living room smell gave her the distinct impression that there bookshelves and armchairs and everything might be coated with dust, but her eyes swept the deceptively stark entryway.

It was eerily silent, save for the hum of a bubbling green tank in the corner. Brainlike things had settled comfortably on the bottom of it; a thick, green, algae swirled about and nearly completely obscured their forms.

Gillyweed.

Her heels made entirely too much noise on the rotten floorboards, squeaking, creaking, clacking as she hesitantly crossed the foyer. Now she knew why she never wore them, and was fairly certain she would never allow herself to be bullied into it again.

"Hello?"

No answer came as she moved through rows of shelves, some completely empty and others teeming with beakers, vials, and assortments of odd-shaped containers in a haphazard cluster. She approached the sorry excuse for a reception desk and placed her gloved fingertips on the edge of it, a plank mounted on two boards with a cloth thrown over. The wall behind the desk contained an open archway that led into a hall with several rooms off of it, but the hall was dark.

Hermione frowned. The shopkeeper was a shady, skittish little man who would never entrust the safety of his goods to the whims of wandering Knockturn Alley dwellers, and she hardly believed that he would willingly have left the place open in his absence. She opened her mouth to call out to him once more but was immediately silenced by a muffled crash that sounded from one of the back rooms. She reached for her wand only to realize it was already in her hand, had been for some time, according to the thin film of sweat on its handle.

A flash of bright light suddenly filtered through the cracks around one of the closed doors, piercing the empty darkness beyond it for a moment.

A bright GREEN light, gone as quickly as it had come.

Her breath hitched and she made some very split-second decisions, ones that did not include getting the hell out of there, because running in those damn shoes would be the death of her if nothing else was. Instead she backed away slowly from the desk, wand aimed at the offending door. In her state of self-preserving wariness, Apparition hardly crossed her mind.

Apparently, neither did backing into a shelf. Said shelf promptly shuddered at the contact but didn't fall; however it didn't stop the shower of glass containers that Hermione watched, horrified, as they shattered to pieces on the floorboards with a sickening crash. The smell of whatever had been in them was putrid and heavy, and she stumbled away from the fumes, her features still frozen in horror and her eyes still glued to the mess before her.

Hermione hardly had time to contemplate the broken vials.

"If you were smart, you'd probably start running now," whispered a gleefully malicious voice in her ear.

She sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth and whipped around, in an instant had her wand leveled at the chest of the offender.

His wand mirrored hers. She met his eyes in a tense staredown.

Striking grey. Hardened and cold.

She noticed his gaze fall to her Ministry pin, a small sneer quirking the corners of his full lips… lips that were framed in black stubble, stubble that framed a strong, chiseled jaw. Wild black curls hung to the base of his neck and brushed his broad, thick shoulders. It was then that she realized he was looking down at her, even in her dragonhide heels.

She never felt the wand slip from her fingers and clatter to the floor. She didn't feel the tears begin to pool in the corners of her eyes. She only felt her heart stop, because she was looking straight into the eyes of someone she knew to be dead.

Her voice was weak and barely audible, a strained whisper. "Sirius?"

He had been grinning cruelly at her tears, ridiculing her weakness. But as that name left her lips, his grin vanished and he narrowed his eyes at her. His jaw twitched, his fist clenched around his wand and trembled, knuckles turning white. Hermione stood in a daze, wandless, completely at his mercy but completely uncaring. The tears were falling freely now, dripping from her chin to leave clear pearls on the surface of her cloak, even as she registered that she couldn't possibly be standing in front of the very Sirius Black whose death she had witnessed herself.

She struggled to regain her composure at the sound of his quavering voice. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he spoke, wand hand shaking violently now. "Who… who the _fuck _are you?"

Hermione, though still in shock, pulled back her shoulders in an attempt to appear taller (to no avail; she was at least an inch shorter than him still) and looked him squarely in the eye. Her vision focused and unfocused, still blurred by tears, but she could still see him searching her own hazel irises as if he expected to find the answer to his question there.

"I believe," she said, her voice sounding a bit stronger than she had thought it would, "that I should ask _you_ the same question."


	2. Legilimens

**A bit of a short chapter, again, but I'm simply writing this as inspiration hits me, so bear with my muse here.**

* * *

For long moment, he looked her over again, and the wand he had aimed at her chest made her acutely aware of her own empty hands. The boy... er, man (he didn't look to be more than 20 or 21) seemed to read her mind and nonverbally summoned her wand from the floor and pocketed it, eyes never leaving hers. Her glare intensified as the initial shock from their encounter eased, but she still hardly dared to move.

She noted that his wand still trembled slightly in her peripheral vision.

Finally he broke the deafening silence, his voice nearly as harsh as his stare. "Tell me who you are, you little Ministry bitch, before I leave you rotting on the floorboards like that pathetic excuse for a wizard back there." He jerked his head in the direction of the darkened hallway.

Hermione swallowed hard, her mind racing with questions and hypotheses, a strange sort of wonder filling her expression in lieu of the fear that froze her where she was standing. She realized she could hardly feel her toes, pinched into the narrow boots as they were, and shifted her weight. The man twitched.

"You... killed him." Her vocal cords had finally decided to start cooperating with her again, and she avoided the question, buying herself more time to observe him. His face was drawn, tired, but young and tan, and his resemblance to Sirius was hardly coincidental. He wore a tattered black cloak over a thin gray jacket and a linen, button-down shirt of some unidentifiable color, and, to her amusement, black muggle leather boots with steel toes. And on his neck… a silver chain with a signet ring. Her breath hitched again.

The Black family crest.

"Yes," he bit sarcastically, "I'm well aware of that." He stepped towards her and she moved backwards until she was flush against the shelf from before. Suddenly his wand was poking the hollow of her throat. Hermione grimaced. "And unless you want to end up like him, you're going to stop sizing me up, tell me who the fuck you are, why you're here, and how the HELL you know my father."

Hermione couldn't hold back her gasp and the vein in his temple bulged as he realized what he had said, but he stood his ground and jabbed his wand at her neck again. She gagged a little but found her voice quickly. "What the _HELL_ is going-"

"_ANSWER ME!" _he bellowed, and for the first time all day, Hermione did the smart thing.

"H-Hermione Granger, sixth year at Hogwarts, I was here buying moonstone powder and…" she gulped as his grip on his wand slackened, hand lowering. Her voice was hoarse. "And Sirius… was a close friend."

In the heavy silence that followed, it seemed necessary for her to add, "And I _don't_ work for the Ministry… I was on my way to an interview for an internship." If anything, that might ease his apprehension since he obviously harbored a grudge there. She was right; his wand was now leveled at her ribs instead of her neck, and she saw his shoulders relax slightly, although his eyes were still piercing and ruthless.

"Granger." He tested the name on his tongue and seemed to retreat into his thoughts for a moment before speaking again. "You're Harry Potter's muggleborn friend."

Hermione nodded warily, watching his expression to see if he would make the connection to Harry and his father. However he only seemed to decide that she wasn't an immediate threat and let his wand hand fall to his side, running his other hand through his black curls in a way that was so characteristic of Sirius, it was startling. "And how, precisely, would you have come to know my father, let alone become friends with a known convict?" he spat bitterly.

Hermione was genuinely surprised at this revelation but tried hard not to let it show on her face. How could Sirius Black's own son not know he was godfather to Harry Potter? But then again, how could he have kept the secret of a son, a SON for Merlin's sake, hidden from the entirety of the wizarding world?

Hermione felt quite lightheaded as she drank in the unmistakable features of Harry's godfather once more. Maybe she'd regain some of the confidence she had lost at wandpoint if she forced herself to pretend that it was Sirius she was addressing, and not her darkly handsome and incredibly pissed off assailant. "I'd be more willing to participate in this… _interrogation_," she said, "if you might be so kind as to explain who, exactly, you are." She had decided that he wasn't going to attack her, at least not immediately. She hoped that maybe he had gotten it out of his system, as she took the liberty to step closer to his intimidating form. He didn't move, just stared.

That gaze of his was really quite unnerving.

"I don't know why it should mean anything to you, seeing as I'm the one with both wands," he reminded her, an all-too-familiar smirk curling his features under her own petulant stare. But he must have decided to humor her, because with a sneer, he said, "I'm Leo. Leo Black."

His words quickly sank in, and the giggle burst out before she could stop herself. Merlin, what an emotional _wreck_ she had become, crying one moment and laughing the next, especially in the presence of a man who had proven himself capable of murder! But she couldn't stifle the laughs for all she was worth; Leo's features were contorted with confusion and contempt as he watched her gloved hand fly to her mouth in a futile effort maintain her composure. Oh, that was _rich. _God bless Sirius's sense of humor, he was certainly one in a million.

That vein throbbed in his temple again as he watched her snicker. "Are you _mad_?"

Hermione ignored him. Leo… it was so perfect. Just_ perfect_. Of course Sirius would have found such a clever way to ridicule the Black family tradition of naming their progeny after stars and constellations… and what a better way to do it than remind them of his affiliation and loyalty to Gryffindor over Slytherin?

She sent a silent thanks to Sirius, wherever he was, and turned her attention back to a not-so-amiable Leo. "Forgive me," she said with a wistful grin, avoiding eye contact. "I think in the past few days I've come to realize that I'm getting madder by the minute."

"A Peace Draught might remedy that," he murmured contemptuously. She scowled at him, her reaction slightly more violent than she had intended, but figured if she really was going to die, then he wouldn't have wasted time exchanging pleasantries.

_How could they not have known? _

* * *

He sat back, his chair squeaking slightly as he brought a leather boot up to rest on the crooked coffee table between them. Leo's arms were crossed in front of him, his wand pointing inconspicuously at Hermione from the crook of his elbow as his gaze bore holes through her postured form.

They had seated themselves in the foyer. She sat pin-straight, ankles crossed, hands in her lap. Her initial tears had dried on her face, but left tell-tale dark spots on her lapel, next to the silver pin. She really, really hated this whole game they had going of staring and silence; she was wound tightly enough as it was. He seemed to be enjoying her discomfort though, and simply watched her watch him.

Well, they weren't going to sit there forever, she decided. She took a breath.

"You want to know how I knew Siri- er, your father," she corrected herself, not entirely sure why. It seemed more…. tactful? She didn't know. "Not many people were aware that Harry's parents asked him to be his godfather."

She watched his vein, saw his jaw clench, but she continued. She was only doing what he asked of her, right? He couldn't possibly be mad at her for that. "When Sirius escaped from Azkaban, Harry and I learned that he was innocent of the crime for which he was convicted, and saved him from the Dementor's Kiss. He escaped, lived on his own for awhile…" she hesitated to tell him more. She had likely said too much already. She didn't know what business Leo had here or who he was working for, for that matter.

"That's a pretty risky lie for you to tell, you know," he sneered, catching Hermione off-guard.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's not a lie!"

"_LEGILIMENS_!"

…

"_Come on, Harry, three turns should do it…"_

_Colors and shapes whirled around the two of them as they left Ron protesting in their wake. Suddenly they were in the Great Hall, light still penetrating through the heavy stained-glass windows. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and dragged them into the shadows as their three-hours-younger selves passed them on their way down to Hagrid's hut, looking grim…_

…

_Ron was being dragged by a large black dog towards the base of the Whomping Willow, his cries of anguish fading as he disappeared below its flailing roots… _

…

_Snape was sailing backwards through the air, colliding with the rickety four-poster bed behind him and landing in a crumpled heap. Ron was clutching his bloodied leg and moaning, Hermione's hand clapped to her mouth in horror as a skeletal man emerged from the shadows. Waxy, scarred skin, matted hair, haunted eyes…_

…

_Lupin was rearing, fully transformed, and let out a bloodcurdling roar. Sirius was no longer in human form as he lunged at Lupin, snarling; Snape threw himself in front of the three students, but it was all for nothing, Pettigrew had already escaped…_

…

_Sirius was soaring away on Buckbeack; Hermione and Harry held each other, smiling as he disappeared into the clouds…_

…

Hermione was on the floor, trembling, trying with all her might to force Leo from her mind. She gritted her teeth and gripped the edges of the coffee table. _"You… bastard…"_

…

_They were all sitting, talking, laughing at the dinner table of Grimmauld Place._

_Sirius was berating Kreacher._

_Sirius was pacing the living room._

_Sirius and Hermione were locked in a game of Wizard's chess._

_Sirius and Dumbledore. Sirius and Molly. Sirius and Harry. _

_Thestrals. Running down the aisles of prophecies. "WHERE'S SIRIUS? I KNOW YOU HAVE HIM!" _

_Bellatrix. Dolohov._

_Green light. Sirius, falling backwards through the veil…_

…

And she returned to herself. Her face was wet, her nails had created little half-moons in the wood where they had dug into the table. Her head rested on the edge and she knelt there, letting out small, shaky breaths. She didn't look up at Leo's face for a very long time.

"Get up." His voice was harsh, biting. Bitter. He sounded strained.

Hermione lifted her face from the surface of the table, letting the stray curls hang in front of her eyes. She knew she must look a wreck, but she didn't quite care. Her stare matched his; oh, if looks could kill.

"Get _up_,"he repeated, prodding his wand at her hair. He suddenly had bags under his eyes she hadn't seen before; white knuckles. He gripped the side of his chair to steady himself, and leveled his wand at her with his free hand. A shadow crossed his features as he looked at Hermione, really _looked_ at her for the first time since their encounter; he followed a tear as it pooled in her hazel eyes, slid down her cheek, her chin, fell to her coat.

Hermione used the table to get to her feet, wobbling slightly in her godforsaken heels, and brushed the dirt from her legs and cloak. She brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, willing Leo to stop fucking _looking _at her like that, humiliating her without even trying. She hated that she couldn't read him and she hated that she didn't know how to feel as she stared down this perfect clone of such a beloved friend… and they really were physical clones, but Leo… Leo was something altogether more sinister, more damaged, darker. She looked at him and saw such a pervasive… blackness. Such an infected soul. Haunted.

_Like father, like son. _

And suddenly, she was overcome with the need to hear his story.

"You know, I can't let you go," Leo said carefully, taking a slow step towards her. Heel-toe, like she was a deer that would be startled away at the slightest movement. It was almost comical, and yet her heart still froze at his words.

She backed away. "I have an interview," she said uselessly, heart quickening. "I have to get back." Her knees came in contact with the chair and she felt her way around behind it as he edged closer.

"No, you don't." His voice was sterner now, as if he was talking to a small child. "You've seen me. I'm not supposed to exist. No one can know, _do you understand that_?" He was growing increasingly panicked as she backed away from him.

_Panicked?_

"I won't say anything, you have my word!" One step back.

"I can't trust you." Another step forward.

"But you _can_! Just believe me, there are people who can help-" A wall.

Leo closed the distance between them, his face inches from hers, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Don't make me hurt you, Hermione." It was the first time he had said her name, and she really, really didn't like the sound of it on his lips. "I can't let you go free."

"Leo, please…" She was almost begging under his ferocious glare, beginning to panic at the sight of his wand out of the corner of her eye. "Sirius wouldn't want-"

Hermione saw colors.

Then nothing.


	3. Escape Artist

Soft shafts of moonlight filtered in through the halfway-drawn blinds, spilling across the sofa and the crumpled sheets Hermione was nestled in. He decided that when she wasn't blubbering pathetically, she was attractive enough. At least she'd be easy on the eyes while he tried to figure out what the fuck he was going to do about her.

After two hours perched on the bay window, puffing away furiously on a dwindling pack of Muggle cigarettes, he hadn't made any progress in devising a plan of action. He was only sure of one thing: that the sleeping witch in his flat was one huge fucking liability. One he sure as hell couldn't afford.

He tapped the ash from his cigarette on the outside brick below the open window, hoping it landed on the howling mutt out on the balcony two floors below. The moon was waning and the sky was cloudless; a light breeze played with some locks of Leo's hair, chilly on his exposed neck but refreshing nonetheless. His eyes fluttered closed briefly as he inhaled the smoke deeply, holding it longer than usual before expelling it out into the cool night air. His eyes followed it as it wisped lazily across the flat rooftops of Muggle London before dispersing against the black sky.

This peace, right here, was the only peace Leo really knew. It was the only peace he could rely upon. Hell, even if it was constantly invaded by his pessimistic thoughts, at least that was consistent, too.

Hermione groaned a little in her sleep, drawing his attention back from the soft lights and sounds of the city, bustling only a few blocks' distance from the residential street. Her hand rested by her cheek on the pillow, and she had managed to significantly tangle her stockinged legs in the cheap sheet Leo had thrown over her. Merlin, it'd be so easy to just wrap his hands around the pale skin of her neck… or a simple incantation could give him back the life he had less than 24 hours ago. Like nothing ever happened.

Except… a particular pair of blue-grey eyes kept haunting him whenever he entertained the thought. Eyes he had never actually seen, except through someone else's memory.

_Should have just killed her when my conscience wasn't working against me. _

He almost smirked at the irony of that.

* * *

Hermione had been a morning person for as long as she could remember. This never earned her much approval from Harry and Ron, who were content to dedicate their mornings and, sometimes, to her disgust, afternoons, to the comfort of their bedsheets.

Which is why, when she slowly became aware of the subtle sounds of morning and her unnaturally heavy eyelids protested being opened, she knew something was off.

_And _her pillow smelled strange…. masculine, almost. The fourth thing she became aware of was that it was light outside…. _how late was it?_

"SHIT!" Hermione leaped from her bed frantically, her mind a blur of thoughts and events and things she could have forgotten, before her legs crumpled beneath her full weight and she collapsed to the floor in a painful heap. "_Oomph!"_

And then she realized she was sprawled on unfamiliar, dusty wooden floorboards. Her legs were entangled in a foreign sheet, her head throbbed incessantly, and this was _not _her dormitory at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her eyes roved to the spot near the foot of the couch where a pair of boots… Tonks' boots, more specifically, had been placed haphazardly. Her cloak and gloves were thrown over the back of an ugly, mustard-yellow armchair.

And just like that, the previous day's events came rushing back to her in an instant. Cold dread pooled in her stomach when she remembered that the last person's face she had seen had been Leo's. And he still had her wand.

She took a moment to survey her surroundings as she disentangled herself from the sheet. The room she was in was sparsely decorated, unkempt, and masculine, with a large bay window covering one wall. The linen sofa she had been sleeping on faced the window, and the worn yellow armchair in the corner faced away from it. This area opened up into small kitchen that, on sight, elicited an involuntary shudder from Hermione… dirty plates, bowls, and utensils littered the counter top, the appliances were yellow with age and grime. Off the entryway was another hall, presumably with a bedroom.

Hermione quietly got to her feet, dusting off the now-wrinkled, itchy tweed shift that she made a mental note never to sleep in again. Her muscles were tense as she moved across the foyer, taking pains not to slip in her stockings on the hardwood floor; with the thin film of dust coating it, however, this proved easier said than done.

She listened at the mouth of the tiny hallway. It was quiet except for the occasional rattling of the AC unit and white-noise hum of the fridge behind her. Two doors led off of the hall; one was cracked open and the other stood ajar, and through the open doorway she saw sunbeams cast across a wrinkled navy comforter and a dark wooden headboard. She tiptoed towards the door, easing it open a little more with a protest from the unoiled hinges, and peered inside.

No Leo.

Hermione stilled the feelings of elation that welled up inside of her at the idea of being alone, able to find a way out of here; Leo wasn't stupid, and he knew she wasn't either. There were bound to be all sorts of wards and protective spells surrounding the place, if not the whole building. It was likely she had already set off alarms, too, but a small part of her held out hope that maybe, just maybe he didn't expect her to be awake and hadn't thought about it.

That same small part of her was what led her back to the entryway. She approached the front door and paused, fingers hovering over the brass knob for a moment, considering the curses or jinxes that it was probably enchanted with; the tips of her fingers were nearly tingling with the hum of magical energy that pulsed softly around the door frame.

She sighed in annoyance, hand falling back to her side. "The best first defense is prevention," she mocked their first-year D.A.D.A. teacher, Professor Quirrell, in a singsong voice. Of course, that _obviously_ worked well for him. Nevertheless it was a mantra that had stuck with her. Her lips quirked upwards when she imagined what the looks on Harry and Ron's faces would have been had they overheard her reciting that.

_Harry and Ron. _Hermione's stomach twisted slightly as she remembered her companions. They were probably throwing a fit, worried out of their minds about her right now… were they trying to find her? She ran a hand through her mussed curls, leaning back against the wall to the left of the door. What about Dumbledore and McGonagall? When she missed her portkey back, she was sure they would've owled the Ministry… and of course, they would've gotten an annoyed reply from some crotchety old secretary about how she never showed up.

It was unlikely that they'd halt the internship program until she was found; transportation was organized so that participating students could Floo straight from Dumbledore's office into their department, and each student was given a portkey that activated itself at the same time each evening to ensure their return before nightfall. But Hermione had requested special permission from Dumbledore to stop at Diagon Alley for a book on ancient runes that she insisted the library didn't carry, and he had humored her, arranging a Floo to The Leaky Cauldron. He had even allowed her to go unescorted because, he joked, he "trusted that she was responsible enough not to accept Sugar Snaps from strangers." The guilt had been eating away at her the entire morning, but she was Hermione, and wasn't possibly daft enough to let herself get caught. _Right._

Flourish and Blott's, as well as Tom from the Leaky, would also say that they never saw Hermione that day.

Her heart sank at the realization that she really had completely and utterly betrayed Dumbledore's trust. She couldn't imagine having to explain herself, let alone _face_ him, having to look into those omniscient eyes devoid of their usual sparkle, when she finally found a way out of here.

Except she kind of had to find a way out, first.

She sighed, looking apprehensively back towards the door. _That _option was out. The huge bay window was her next-best option; she made her way over to the far wall, pulling the blinds so that the sudden, harsh light of the mid-morning sun invaded the room and forced her to shield her eyes.

After close inspection of the windowpanes, she located two small latches, one near the sill and the other near the top slat of the blinds. Hermione wasn't surprised when neither of them would budge. Her anger only built as her fingers throbbed incessantly, presumably from a Stinging Hex that Leo had infused the latches with. Although she was curious as to why the window wasn't nearly as well-guarded as the main door, she had suddenly been so overcome with frustration that she picked up the object nearest to her (it happened to be a small potted plant) and chucked it violently at the glass.

The glass did not shatter as she expected but, instead, flexed outwards upon impact and kept stretching for another split second, before flinging the pot directly back at a wide-eyed Hermione. She yelped and only had a split second to throw her body to the floor before a terracotta blur soared overhead. It made contact with the half-wall between the kitchen and the living room, smashing to pieces with a satisfying _CRUNCH, _and then falling to the floor in a heap of clay shards and dirt.

The glass of the window was still wobbling happily back into place as if nothing had happened.

As soon as Hermione had remembered how to breathe again, she let out a string of curses, leaped to her feet and pounded on the annoyingly once-again-solid window. She banged until she could feel her knuckles begin to bruise. Tears of frustration threatened to pour forth but she blinked them back determinedly and gave the window one last pathetic, defeated blow. She choked out a small sob, resting her forehead and her hands against the warm glass, a lone tear making its way down to the tip of her nose before clinging to the window. Her eyes dejectedly traveled downward to the street below. She watched the Muggles walking contentedly, some of them stopping to chat, some looking straight forward and breezing past other pedestrians, quickly trying to get where they needed to be. Her fingernails tapped the enchanted glass rhythmically, the only thing separating her from freedom.

It was a narrow road, a residential street that was lined with complexes similar to this one, all brick and closely cramped together like books stuffed on a shelf. She counted the windows on the building directly across the road and determined that they were on the fourth floor, the top one.

The top floor. Wait a second.

_Roof access._

Hermione sprang up from her perch on the bay window with a renewed sense of purpose, and more importantly, hope. Alright, so chances were, there was more than one unit on this top floor, and it was unlikely that each one would have individual roof access… but just to make sure, she dashed into the bedroom hallway and peered through the cracked-open door she had previously neglected. She came face-to-face with, well, herself. In the mirror of a small, dimly-lit bathroom.

She didn't give herself time to marvel at her mile-high frizz, or the smudged eyeliner that gave her the appearance of a raccoon, before the gears in her mind were turning again. It wasn't the first time she had been grateful for having lived amongst Muggles the majority of her life, as she remembered something from a cheesy, made-for-TV espionage flick she once watched.

Air vents! Air vents might lead to the roof, wouldn't they? She was willing to take a chance on that as she spotted one back through the hallway, above the kitchen stove.

"Aha!" Adrenaline coursed through her body as she sprinted back the way she had come and managed to hoist herself up onto the counter top, ignoring the protests from the germophobe inside of her. Sure, some gross sticky substance had just lifted off the counter when she touched it, but freedom was close. So _close_.

She hooked her fingers through a slat in the vent and tugged. Nothing. She pulled harder, placing one foot on the other side of the stove to steady herself. "Please, please, please, please…" she urged, giving the metal smaller, consecutive pulls, until she felt something give a little; and then, her foot slid further down the counter, the stockings she was wearing providing hardly any grip. Hermione squeaked as she felt herself lose balance, but held fast to the air vent for dear life. As she came tumbling to the floor, she made the painful mistake of trying to land on both feet, and her ankle gave as soon as she hit the tile, bending underneath her with a sickening _SNAP. _

And then pain _exploded _around her as she lay on the kitchen floor, stunned, for a few long moments. When Hermione finally raised herself to her elbows, sat up, and clutched at her throbbing limb, she was almost dry heaving with the ferocity of the pain, doubled over. "Oh, sweet _Merlin_." She sucked in a breath sharply through her teeth, barely feeling the ceiling plaster ghosting downward upon her. The cool metal vent was still an extension of her other arm.

"Great fucking job, Hermione. Way to fucking go. Of all the idiotic…." she hiccuped, warm tears making their familiar path down her cheeks for the umpteenth time since yesterday. She finally pried her fingers from the metal vent, her right hand going to join the left one clutching her ankle; sniffling and peering upwards towards the gaping hole that was almost her salvation, she couldn't help but stifle a small giggle. The hole was barely big enough to fit her head, let alone her entire body. How the hell had she thought she was going to get through _there_?

She really did laugh aloud to herself this time, leaning back against the bottom cabinet. The whole situation was honestly just so ridiculous, it seemed like the only fitting thing to do. Tears of pain streamed from her eyes and still, she laughed; she was surely going mad. But even that might be a blissful reprieve from all this. "This is such a mess," she chuckled sadly, leaning her head back against the cabinet and closing her eyes. She almost welcomed the throbbing pain; it was kind of cleansing.

But she was startled out her reverie by another, _very_ unwelcome voice. "You sure as fuck have that one right, kid."


	4. Fish and Chips

**Thank you to Beringae, whose story The Nietzsche Classes gave me the inspiration for Hermione's Peace Draught dependence. I am not taking full credit for the idea, however I have twisted and changed it to make it my own and to fit with the story. If you haven't read The Nietzsche Classes, I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a refreshing, intellectual read :)**

**That being said, thank you for being patient with me; This is one of my first fanfics ever and it's been a struggle for me to become comfortable with any characterization of Hermione. I know that everyone has their own distinct interpretation of her character outside of J. K. Rowling's version, but I've always viewed her as smart, mature, and quick-witted for her age, but still just a teenage girl who is coming into her own, and with that comes many of the insecurities that girls of that age tend to harbor. She is not Superwoman, at least not in this story.**

**Also, I'm aware that sixth-years didn't learn to Apparate until later in the year, but for the sake of the story, let's pretend that they began learning in the beginning :3**

**I've been asked a lot about Leo's age and backstory, and I promise it will all make sense soon enough :) There IS a story behind him, and there is a reason for his age as well (I'll go ahead and cease the speculation here: he's 19).**

**Phew! And with that, I bid you…. adieu!**

* * *

Leo stilled the growl in his throat as he let the stairwell door ease shut. Thanks to the silencing spells on his flat, it was deceptively quiet in the narrow, dingy corridor, as he closed the distance between himself and unit number Nine. Hermione was awake and she had let him know it quickly, setting off nearly all the alarms he had placed within a matter of minutes.

He huffed in annoyance and shifted the plastic bag on his arm to make sure the food didn't spill from its carton. Leo was in no way looking forward to the confrontation he was sure was about to take place, but it had to happen sooner or later. Pausing in front of the door, he took one last glance around the corridor before his hand found his wand – but his ears picked up the sound of another key jingling in a lock before he could remove the enchantments.

The door closest to the stairwell, unit Eight, flew open unceremoniously as Leo quickly stuffed his wand back into his messenger bag. A short, stocky man with a thick mop of brown hair stepped out into the corridor, his eyes quickly resting on Leo. "Oi! Liam. I was hoping to catch you, you have a minute?"

"Jarrod." Leo tipped his chin up at the man in greeting. He had gone by several aliases in the company of Muggles, but he seemed to mind Liam the least. He stuffed his hands in his pockets; the food was forgotten by the door as he strode over to meet his landlord and boss-turned-friend, who was leaning comfortably against the door frame.

Jarrod grinned, revealing a few silver-capped teeth. "Got a job for you. A _good _one. Client requested you, specifically." He opened the door a bit wider. "Come in, will you?"

Leo glanced back at his door for a moment, his ears buzzing almost inaudibly as another alarm was set off. "Look, I can't stay long," he murmured, and Jarrod chuckled, giving him a knowing look.

"New bird?"

"Something like that," Leo grimaced, pushing his way past the man and shutting the door behind him. He turned to find Jarrod appraising him, and gave him a dark look. "I don't have all day, now. What're you on about?"

Jarrod's grin widened, but he shook his head. "Just good to see you getting over it, is all."

Leo was already in a sour mood, and bringing up his ex-girlfriend certainly wasn't helping. "I thought I declared that subject off-limits." Jarrod raised an eyebrow, and Leo sighed, running a hand through his black curls. "Look, Nadine and I came to an understanding. That's _it_. It's been more than four months anyway."

He sent a final, significant glare Jarrod's way. Leo would _not _be coerced into talking about this with him, again.

Jarrod held up his hands as if in submission. "Alright, just looking out for you, mate." Leo visibly relaxed at the change of subject, watching Jarrod reach into his trouser pocket and carefully pull out a small, folded envelope. "I got this from Archer yesterday."

Leo folded his arms in front of him, interest piqued at the mention of the name. While most of the clients that he did jobs for went directly through Jarrod, the assignments that Jarrod received from Archer or Reid were considerably more difficult and often far more dangerous. But, he thought with a small smirk, they were what made his line of work worth it. It wasn't just the money; it was the thrill.

It also helped to have magic on his side, but he still liked to think that he was uncannily good at what he did.

He reached and took the envelope from Jarrod's outstretched hand, turning it over in his fingers. His finger slid under the seal, but Jarrod stopped him before it tore. "He said that it was for your eyes only, and refused tell me anything further than the compensation_ I_ would receive. I'm assuming everything you need to know is in there." His eyes told Leo everything else he didn't say aloud: Jarrod didn't want to know what the job was. Leo nodded. At least he was a good judge of when not to get in over his head.

Leo stuffed the envelope into his pocket. With nod and a mumbled goodbye, he stepped back into the corridor. The door shut with a click and he was striding back towards unit Nine where the food was waiting patiently for him; he was anxious to see what was in that envelope, but as he tapped his wand against the door, he realized that having a bloody _hostage_ to consider might make his work more trouble than it was worth.

Bloody bint had to go and ruin everything.

The door slowly opened inwards and he slid inside, quickly closing it behind him and resetting the most necessary wards. He set down his messenger bag and tensed as he moved through the entryway predatorily, taking pains to make as little noise as possible. _Come out, come out, wherever you are…_

He didn't have to go far.

A violent crash jerked his attention towards the kitchen and he gripped his wand, finding the entry in three long strides. _Oh, bloody hell. _

Hermione was sprawled on the tile floor, heaving and clutching her ankle as ceiling plaster rained down upon her. Tears streamed down her face, but she… she was laughing? "This is such a mess…" she chucked halfheartedly, eyes closed.

Leo couldn't resist. "You sure as fuck have that one right, kid."

* * *

Gods, Hermione thought she must look a sight. Face caked powder-white with ceiling plaster, shift bunched around her knees, runs in her stockings as she shifted uncomfortably on the grimy kitchen floor. She wouldn't have cared so much if her captor wasn't perusing her, face inscrutable, from the arched entrance.

They were both silent for a long moment, and Hermione took the opportunity to warily return his scrutiny. He was carrying what appeared to be a plastic bag with two flat, foam cartons stacked one on top of the other, dressed head-to-toe in Muggle attire with those same, steel-toed boots. He wore his frayed jeans and black leather vest with ease, a sure sign that he had lived among the nonmagical population for a while… most self-respecting wizards would never care to figure out how to match Muggle clothing, anyway.

He finally broke eye contact and turned away from her, lifting the bag to the countertop. "You redecorated."

She stared wide-eyed at his back, but said nothing. What was she supposed to think of him, of everything? One minute he was killing people in front of her, the next minute he was making _jokes_. He wasn't threatening her. He wasn't even trying to _intimidate_ her.

And he had brought her food.

And wasn't sure if she should be afraid of him now, not really. But that probably had as much to do with the fact that her situation was hopeless, as it had to do with his behavior. Her ankle was broken, for Merlin's sake; Hermione was now completely at his mercy. That should have scared her. But in reality, she just felt bolder. There was a reason he hadn't killed her before, and she intended to find out why.

Then, there was that blaring, obvious fact that she wasn't really willing to address yet. Sirius had a son. One that, according to Leo, "wasn't supposed to exist."

No, she would save that meditation for later, when her mouth wasn't watering at the familiar aroma of fish and chips wafting across the room. Leo had grabbed a fork from one of the drawers and situated himself in the other room with his food. She glared at the second carton, just out of reach on the countertop and smelling_ heavenly._

_Bugger._

* * *

"What are you playing at?"

Leo nearly snorted into his food at the sound of the defiant voice behind him. So, the girl had a bit of backbone after all. "Pardon?"

He raised an eyebrow as Hermione scooted herself around the half-wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. He couldn't help the sneer that crept onto his face as he watched her choreography: push carton, crawl forward, wince, push carton again, crawl forward, wince, push carton. She glared daggers at him; he ignored her.

"You heard me," she groaned as she pulled herself up onto the couch and cradled her ankle. Leo had seated himself at the bay window and turned his head to watch the Muggles on the street below, doing his best to shrug off the phantom tingle of her stare. What did she honestly expect him to say? He couldn't very well tell her the truth… because, well, _he_ didn't even know what that was. He couldn't even give himself a straight answer, not after a full morning of brooding had only succeeded in jumbling his thoughts even more than they had been to begin with. He sighed.

On any other day, Leo would be prowling the streets. Maybe people-watching at a sidewalk café. Roaming about the public library, meandering thorough art galleries, brooding in a quiet bar. At night, he'd go clubbing with his usual group of mates, or catch a drink with Nadine. Or, as he found himself doing more often of late, scoping out a job.

His life was simple, guarded. He liked his routine. Not only did it serve his current situation well, but he was beginning to fall into a place where he didn't rely on magic so much for his happiness. In fact, sometimes it felt good to forget about magic… to forget what it had had gotten him into. What it had turned him into.

And now, she had ruined nearly everything.

"Believe me," he grumbled bitterly to the window, just loud enough so she could hear, "if I had a choice, you wouldn't be here right now."

He heard her shove the Styrofoam carton onto the coffee table in exasperation. "Why didn't you just Obliviate me?"

_Bollocks. _Why did she have to ask so many bloody _questions_? He failed to understand why she thought he should feel obligated to present her with a truthful answer, anyway.

Leo amplified the sneer a bit and shot a withering look her way. Her insolent stare quickly softened and he felt his ego swell slightly. "Why didn't you just Apparate?"

She pressed her lips together and quickly averted her eyes. He smirked and returned to his food, victorious.

The sounds of the two of them eating filled the silence that followed. Leo sincerely hoped that there would be lots of those kinds of silences in the future.

* * *

It was an uncharacteristically warm day for November, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. A group of first-year boys had gathered down by the edge of the lake, teasing the Giant Squid with some jinxes they had bullied a third-year into teaching them; Ravenclaw and Slytherin were arguing over the Quidditch pitch; some fourth-year girls were sunning themselves on the lawn while gnomes tried to scamper off with their belongings in tow. Even the Whomping Willow seemed content to just swat lazily at the few birds that passed by. Nearly everyone was making it a priority to enjoy the weather.

Well, except three.

Ron, Ginny, and Harry headed purposefully down a narrow stone corridor, barely stopping to let Dumbledore's gargoyle jump aside and allow them through. When they reached the top of the winding staircase, the door was already flung open to accommodate them, and they were met with the grim, tired faces of Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the headmaster himself.

Ron stumbled forward, barely able to contain himself. "What's happened to 'Mione? Did you find her? Is she… she's going to be okay, right?"

Ginny moved to place a hand on Ron's arm reassuringly, glancing back at Harry's steely expression as the headmaster levitated some extra chairs over and motioned for them to sit. He waited patiently until they were situated until he spoke; Ginny was alarmed at how strained his voice sounded. "Since yesterday, we have not learned much, I'm afraid. We _do_ know that she never once traveled through the Floo network or used a portkey after she arrived in Diagon Alley, as Mr. Shacklebolt here has been able to confirm."

Kingsley nodded gravely. "Actually, though, as I was just telling Albus and Minerva before you three arrived, we may have a lead. It hasn't been very conclusive so far, but it's a good enough start."

Ginny could feel Harry twitch beside her, and she reached down and threaded her fingers through his as Ron, once again, served as the voice of the group. "Really? You _do_? What is it?"

Kingsley exhaled slowly. "We've been trying to keep this under wraps; even though Hermione is of age, this could still look very bad for Dumbledore. Plus the publicity of something like this could really hinder our investigation. But we feel that you three deserve to know." He shared a look with Dumbledore, who nodded in reassurance; McGonagall stood stock-still behind Kingsley with her hands clasped in front of her, all the color having drained from her face. Her eyes were glued to the floor and she hadn't uttered a word since they came in the room.

"I was able to pull a favor from a friend in the Improper Use of Magic Office," Kingsley continued, "and she had a look at the records from the Trace that is placed on all of the wands of underage witches and wizards as a safety precaution, as I'm sure you know. For legal purposes, it's not actually removed from your wands while school is in session, but rather left unmonitored. After going through the records from yesterday, she was able to determine what the last spell Hermione casted was, and when and where it occurred."

Ron was becoming increasingly jittery, while Kingsley's words had quite the opposite effect on Harry. His knuckles were white from gripping the armrest with one hand, and the other connecting him to Ginny was clammy; he sat so stiffly beside her that she could barely discern the rising and falling of his chest in her peripheral vision.

"She last performed a _Reparo _spell at half-past-twelve, in the vicinity of Knockturn Alley."

There was a pregnant pause as the three students allowed the weight of Kingsley's words to fully sink in. But Harry quickly broke the thick silence that followed, his jaw set in anger. "Knockturn Alley?" he hissed. "A good _start, _you say? That's about as good of a _START _as it is an _END_!"

Ginny promptly burst into tears.


	5. Su Casa es Mi Casa

**If I made any mistakes in translating Runes, sorry... my knowledge on the subject is only as extensive as Google's.**

* * *

Rain was pounding ruthlessly upon the windows of a Gryffindor tower, distorting the moonlight that filtered through the stained-glass panels. It was past midnight and most of the students had found their way back to their beds by now, with the exception of one figure that still lingered silently in front of the hearth of the Gryffindor common room.

Harry was seeing spots from having stared into the slowly dwindling fire for so long, but something inside of him half-expected to find his godfather's face staring back. Several times he had jumped, thinking he had spotted Sirius, but it was just an oddly shaped log or an irregular pattern in the dancing flames.

He finally tore his eyes away from the fire and let his head fall into his palms, slowly massaging his forehead with the heels of his hands. If Sirius were here, he would know exactly what to tell Harry… He could still conjure up his godfather's concerned expression; one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other, the crow's feet around his eyes, the downturned corners of his mouth…. "Don't do anything rash, Harry. If Voldemort has her, that's exactly what he'd want for you to do. The Order's doing everything they can to locate her, but you have to trust us. Don't make a bad situation worse."

No… no, that was all wrong. Damn it! Sirius face blurred and distorted, and became Hermione's. Those words were _Hermione's_. Her hazel eyes swam in tears as she reached out to him, but she was too far away, and faded into black. The face of his friend he couldn't protect…

"It's all my _fault_!" he growled at the fire, fighting the urge to break something, anything. Harry's fists were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into the flesh of his palms. "It's my fault she's fucking kidnapped. Voldemort is using her to get to me…"

And in one swift motion, everything on the coffee table in front of him was flung to the floor. Papers scattered, books and quills landed with a muffled clunk, an inkwell shattered on the rug, leaving a dark black pool reminiscent of blood.

And Harry remained a trembling silhouette against the dying flames, warmth beginning to sting his eyes.

He felt as if he was going mad. He needed Hermione's levelheadedness now more than ever, her cool intellect. And Sirius…. he needed answers from an adult, facts from someone that wouldn't sugarcoat them for him. Anyone he asked was going to tell him what he wanted to hear.

At that point, the crackling of the fire and the drone of the rain might have been soothing, had they not reminded him how empty and alone he really was.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the bay-window blinds in a blatant mocking of Hermione's dreary attitude the next morning. If she had been close at all to finding a way out of Leo's flat yesterday, she was leagues away now, not only crippled by her lack of wand, but by her bum ankle.

She had been silently berating herself for acting so foolishly and impulsively yesterday, unsure of what had come over her in those moments of panic. Hermione Granger was the brains and the common sense of the Golden Trio. Hermione Granger was _not supposed to panic, _damn it, and now she was paying for it.

When she had awoken that morning, Leo was gone again. It didn't really surprise her. She hadn't expected him to stick around; he didn't seem much for company, namely hers, even when she was just sitting in silence. What did surprise her, though, was that she awoke to find her stocking torn off cleanly from the knee down, and her ankle set and wrapped in ace bandage, the sharp stabs of pain having dulled to a throbbing ache. And by the unevenness of the wrappings, Leo had done it the Muggle way, Hermione was almost sure of it.

Why would he bother with the effort if he could just use magic? Perhaps it was a charm he had never quite mastered, but even the most novice Wizards could usually perform simple healing spells, and he had already shown himself to be an extremely proficient one. Hermione shuddered involuntarily at the memory of his Legilimency…

Nothing in this world enthralled Hermione Granger more than a challenge, a mystery; and Leo Black was just that, if not one of the most enigmatic people she'd come across. There were so, so many questions that begged to be answered, questions surrounding his magic, his past, his very existence… and yet, something inside Hermione urged her not to come forth with these inquiries just yet. If she had learned anything after five years fighting alongside Harry, it was to trust her instincts… she knew that, somehow, she would have to gain the trust of this newcomer, this man who had waltzed into her life and turned everything completely upside-down.

That thought was not a particularly comforting one. It implied time and patience… both things she knew she had very little of.

What confused her even more were these conflicting sentiments of hers, the clash between the half of her that needed a plan for escape and hoped for rescue, and the half of her that urged her to stay put, to find out more about Leo and where he came from. She had come across an opportunity that it pained her to imagine letting go of, and she couldn't immediately discern the better of the two ideas. She preferred to not have grey area in her decision-making, and this was nothing but.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, loud gurgling noise that she realized was her stomach. What time was it, anyway?

Hermione supported herself with the armrest of the sofa and strained to see over the half-wall separating the living room and the kitchen. The stove clock read 9:41. Well, that was just wonderful, wasn't it? Leo might not be back for hours, and she wasn't willing to wait and see whether he'd have the decency to bring her food. As she held the armrest to steady herself on one stocking foot, she realized that she had been wearing the same outfit for three days now, hadn't bathed, or even brushed her teeth…

Regardless of Leo's absence, she suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. It _was_ rather laughable, considering that she had plenty of other things to worry about at the moment, but she had always cared a lot about hygiene and cleanliness. She suddenly decided that food could wait.

As she hopped towards the corridor with the bathroom, Hermione lamented the fact that she had yet to master the Undetectable Extension charm… if she had just been able to cast it on that purse that Aunt Helga had given her for her birthday, she'd have all her essentials with her and wouldn't be stuck using… well, whatever it was that she was about to find in Leo's bathroom.

And she wasn't about to wear this itchy tweed dress forever. _Maybe…_

She stopped in the middle of the corridor with her hand on the doorframe to steady herself. The bedroom door was ajar, and Leo's chest-of-drawers was in plain sight…

She felt her face flush with heat immediately. _Hermione, what on earth has come over you? Wear one of Leo's shirts? LEO's shirts? Honestly, are you mad? It's not like you're a guest in his flat, you're a bloody captive for Merlin's sake! And you don't know where his stuff has been, you don't know who he is, you don't have any right…_

Hermione nearly laughed aloud at herself, worrying about manners when _she_ had been carted off against her will. But those thoughts fizzled when she remembered her hand-wrapped ankle. She still was unsure what to make of it. She had a difficult time believing that he had done that out of the "goodness of his own heart."

_Regardless, the idea of going through his shirts was completely inappropriate,_ she argued with herself. _Okay, all right. It was! But it wasn't like I was really going to, of course. _

Hermione _did _know that she never would have actually done it. It was only a fleeting thought… albeit a disturbing one. The simple fact that it had even crossed her mind left a bad taste in her mouth.

She pushed the girlish fantasy from her mind and turned to enter the smaller of the two rooms. The bathroom was small and dingy, like the rest of the flat, but she was amused to see a clutter of hair care products surrounding the sink area, and immediately grinned at the thought of Sirius. A gray towel hung from a lonely hook by the shower's frosted glass door, and for a moment Hermione recoiled at the idea of using the same towel to dry her body as her captor used for his… but then again, she _had_ entertained the idea of wearing his _clothing. _

She made a mental note to discuss some… things… with Leo later.

Hermione made quick work of her dress, struggling to pull her stockings over the bulk of the wrapping on her ankle. It felt odd to be completely naked in this foreign bathroom, almost as if she expected Leo to have installed secret cameras everywhere to keep watch on her like in those Muggle reality television shows. The thought was absurd, she knew, but all the same, she didn't waste time getting in the shower.

She maneuvered the handheld showerhead away from her wrapped leg with some difficulty, but the end result was far better than she'd hoped: Leo apparently kept a good stock of Sleekeazy's shampoo and conditioner.

And when she finally emerged from the steaming room, she knew that was just what the Healer ordered. Hermione may have still been hopping around, but she didn't feel like as much of an invalid, and she certainly didn't feel the weight of being a victim pressing in on her from all sides. She had done her best to let most of her negativity wash down the drain with the soapsuds, and embraced this new, perhaps short-lived, feeling of empowerment.

She had cast aside the ripped stockings in favor of bare legs and made use of Leo's toothpaste as well, but didn't dare take any more liberties at the moment. She was already unsure of how Leo would react. It helped, though, that she hadn't really done anything wrong… she shouldn't be made to feel guilty for taking care of basic human needs, should she? And after all, Leo hadn't been nearly as angry as she had expected after she tried to escape.

Her stomach would have preferred she not dwell on the questions raised by the ambiguity of Leo's actions, but as she grudgingly tried to block out the pain from her throbbing ankle and hop towards the kitchen, a faint scratching noise stopped her cold.

She stood at the mouth of the corridor, placing her hands on either wall for support, and listened.

_scratch scratch… scratch scratch scratch…_

She could feel the blood rushing in her ears as her pulse quickened. The noise was coming from Leo's bedroom. As she made her way over to the doorway (the drama of the moment significantly decreased by the fact that she was hopping gracelessly), the noise became louder. It almost sounded like…

A pair of piercing yellow eyes met hers, and she almost laughed in relief. The source of the "ominous" noise was a small brown owl that sat in a cage by the window, which had previously been blocked from sight by the open door. As she entered the room to get a better look, Hermione was surprised that Leo hadn't placed any wards to keep her from getting in. She was almost sure he was the kind of wizard to keep Dark artifacts around, if not, that he was just possessive of his things… and yet, he wasn't worried about her entering his personal space? Curious…

The owl hooted softly in greeting and she scooted herself along the edge of the bed until she was in front of its cage. It watched her warily but didn't back away as she approached.

"You nearly gave me a fright, you know," she said.

It stared back at her, unmoving. Hermione chuckled to herself after a long moment. "Look at me, talking to owls…" Although she must admit, it felt nice to know she wasn't entirely alone in her captivity.

At least she wasn't caged.

She leaned back on her palms and surveyed the room. It was much larger than she had originally thought, with several small alcoves hiding shelves with books and a worn leather armchair in one corner. But then again, Leo could've put a charm on it similar to the one on the tent she stayed in for the Quidditch World Cup…

Another pang of loneliness. Quidditch only reminded her of Harry and Ron and everything she was missing right now… she didn't want to think about any of that. She didn't want to think of pumpkin juice and schoolbooks and broomsticks, or Malfoy and Potions. She didn't want to think about the fact that she was wandless. As easy as it was for her to adapt to the life of a Muggle (having done it most of her life and every summer since her first year at Hogwarts), it didn't make things feel any more _right. _

Were they looking for her? She fell backwards onto the blue comforter and looked for shapes in the popcorn ceiling. She wished she had a _Prophet_ to thumb through… some kind of tie to the magical world other than her kidnapper. Not that she expected there to be anything about her in the paper. Dumbledore would, of course, have kept things quiet, never one to attract more attention than necessary. Who had he set on the case? Lupin? Kingsley? Moody?

_Wait a minute…._

She sat upright so suddenly that the owl twitched, moving to the back of its cage and eyeing her warily.

_Dumbledore._

Back at the apothecary, Leo had said that he "wasn't supposed to exist." Did he mean that he wasn't supposed to have ever existed? Or… could he have meant that he simply wasn't supposed to exist at this point in time? Or both?

Because there would've had to be at least been one person in the world who knew about Leo: The person who sent him his Hogwarts letter.

Hermione ran her fingers through her (now smooth and silky) waves. Dumbledore had to have contacted Leo at some point in time during his childhood to invite him to Hogwarts. The Ministry, of course, would at least have a record of his birth… unless someone destroyed it?

But what confused her most was why Dumbledore would keep such a big secret. Did Sirius even _know_ that he had a son? He had been known for being something of a womanizer, but she hardly wanted to let herself think that he was, well, _that_ kind of person…

Hermione tried not to dwell on those thoughts. She couldn't bear to taint Sirius's memory by thinking him capable of such things… but she had to admit, it was a feasible explanation.

She turned her attention back to the other question in her mind. _"I'm not supposed to exist…"_

But, realistically, he had existed at some point in the Wizarding community. That much was answered by the fact that Dumbledore would have sent him a letter. The only other reason why he didn't "exist", _now_, was if he had disappeared.

But _why?_

Leo had obviously never attended Hogwarts. There's no possible way he could have, as their years would have overlapped and they would have heard about him, for sure. So where, then, would he have learned Legilimency? Snape, Dumbledore, and Voldemort were the only wizards whom Hermione knew of that were capable of performing it; of course, she wasn't about to assume they were the _only _ones that could. She was sure there were tons of wizards that could do it, but according to her readings, it was incredibly tricky to learn and quite a feat to master.

That left her with one last theory… Durmstrang.

The thought made her shudder involuntarily. That place spat out more Dark wizards than history could keep track of… although it wasn't necessarily a breeding ground for evil (Krum was a wonderful example of a good egg), it didn't diminish its notoriety for such.

A bundle of nerves had begun to form in the pit of Hermione's stomach. If, in fact she was dealing with a former Durmstrang student, would Krum have known him? She had a sneaking suspicion that Leo was younger than she initially thought… after all, Sirius wouldn't have had a child at 15.

_Unless he didn't know about it,_ the voice in the back of her head whispered, but she did her best to push those thoughts away again. No, she gathered that Leo was closer to Krum's age… but had they been in the same year, wouldn't Leo have come to attend the Triwizard Tournament? Or had he perhaps found a way to avoid returning to Hogwarts? Or… maybe had he been _forced_ to stay behind?

There was also the chance that he "disappeared" before his seventh year. And still, it was equally likely that he never even attended Durmstrang at all! Hermione sighed in exasperation, massaging her neck where a tension headache had started to form.

She usually couldn't help but get herself all excited as she formulated new questions and hypotheses. But where the pieces of the puzzle usually seemed to fall in place and make the picture clearer, right now it just seemed as if the pieces were more jumbled than ever. And more pieces kept appearing.

In addition, she hadn't a singe bit of evidence to point her in any direction; only speculation to go on. Hermione was thinking in circles; there wasn't a visible beginning to the story, and there certainly wasn't an end in sight.

She was startled from the depths of her thoughts by the owl's soft hooting. It had moved to the front of its cage once more and was staring at her intently. After a brief pause, it pecked on the wire of its cage.

"What's the matter, little one?" Hermione said softly to the creature, leaning in towards the cage and tapping a finger on the wire dome. "Do you need something?" She noticed an open bag of owl treats at the foot of the nightstand that the cage was sitting on.

But the owl stole its chance and nipped at her finger, breaking the skin before she could snatch her hand away. "Ow! You little…" She instinctively brought her finger to her mouth and returned the bird's glare. "Good luck getting a treat now, you little bugger. Patience is a virtue."

Hermione huffed and scooted her way to the end of the bed. She was preparing to leave the room when she spotted it through Leo's open closet door: a large, antique-looking trunk, not at all unlike the one that Barty Crouch, Jr. had kept the real Professor Moody in two years prior.

What was it doing _here_?

She had promised herself she would try not to go snooping. It was really an empty promise, she knew, but one made in an effort to try and keep from getting herself into any more trouble than she was already in. She knew that Leo was bound to find out that she was in his room (although she wasn't really to blame for that, it was his fault for not warding the door), but a small part of her had hoped that if he knew that nothing of his was touched, it would be a small step for her in gaining his trust. She wasn't about to throw away that chance.

But… she wouldn't really be touching anything, just looking, right? So before she could second-guess herself, she pushed off the bed and hopped over to the closet. As she neared the open doorway, she became aware of one very distinct difference between this trunk and Moody's: This one was wrapped in heavy-looking magical chains. Her heartbeat quickened when she realized that – despite being solidly bound – the trunk was cracked open on the left side, as if the thing had just splintered…. or been torn open, by someone, or some_thing_.

Now would've been the ideal time for her to leave the room, she knew. Leo could be back at any moment, and yet she felt almost rooted to the spot in which she stood. Against her better judgment, Hermione knelt on the wooden floorboards and crawled further into the closet to get a better look.

There were runes carved into the silver edges of the trunk, but they were so old and worn she could barely make them out. The one she did recognize was Algiz, or Protection, but without the other hieroglyphs she couldn't decipher it in context.

She reached a hand up to run the tips of her fingers tentatively across the cool silver casing, silently in awe of the faint hum of its magic beneath her touch. As her hand trailed around to the left side of the trunk where the chunk was missing, she came across a few more symbols that were just barely decipherable.

"Hagalaz," she murmured. Hail. Upheaval, discord, and destructive forces.

"Teiwaz… reversed?" Try. Frustrations and quarrels that sap the strength.

"Isa…" Ice. Stillness, patience, and sacrifice.

"Kaunaz…" Fire. A shining beacon of hope in the dark.

"Wunjo…" Joy. Peace, balance, and harmony, as darkness gives way to the light.

"Uruz." Death of a cycle or dark period.

Her finger had traced its way to the edge of the crack in the trunk, she realized. And indeed, it was more than just a crack; the leather had been ripped away, and whatever the trunk was constructed of was splintered, its jagged edges gaping outwards as if it had been punched out from the inside.

"Oh _Merlin_…" She ran her hand along the outline of the hole. Whatever had created this was _not_ human.

And as she pulled back from the edge of the hole, a small tuft of hair came away in her fingertips. Coarse and grey.

Her heart suddenly jumped in her throat. No, she _had _to be wrong. She desperately wanted to be wrong, to not have the answer, just this once. But suddenly, she was back in front of the Whomping Willow again with Harry and Ron, being shielded by Snape under a full moon.

She dropped the fur from her trembling hands.

Yes, whatever had created this hole was _anything_ but human.

* * *

**AN:** It would make me (and my muse) very, very happy if you left a review :)


	6. A Little More Complicated

Hermione didn't have to argue with herself anymore about whether or not it was a good idea to stay in Leo's bedroom.

With adrenaline now coursing through her body at the sight of the (she was still reluctant to believe her initial assumption had been true) Werewolf fur and the memory it had unfortunately brought forth, she immediately fell back on her hands and scooted away from the closet as quickly as her ankle would allow. She didn't stop pulling herself backwards along the floor until her back hit the wall opposite the closet door. Hard.

She sucked in a shaky breath, unaware that she had even been holding it. What the hell could Leo _possibly_ be doing keeping a Werewolf locked in a trunk, in his closet? Not even Hagrid would be mad enough to keep one as a pet, and that was certainly saying something, considering his habit of keeping three-headed dogs, dragons, and Acromantulas around.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably and for a brief moment, she thought she might be sick, but the urge was gone as quickly as it had come. She grasped the end of the bed and pulled herself up to standing with great effort. She was on autopilot now, with one prevailing idea in her mind: get the hell out of there.

Hermione was in deeper than she had thought. She had expected a few Dark artifacts, maybe a few poisons or creepy books, but someone who kept a Werewolf was playing dangerous games, and she wasn't sure that they were ones she wanted to play. She had initially held out a small nugget of hope that Leo wasn't as ruthless as her first impression of him had been. _I guess you can't have everything, _she thought grimly.

Then his broad form filled doorway, and just like that, her day went from wonderful to perfect.

"Something the matter?"

His voice made Hermione's blood run cold. This was that gleefully malicious Leo she remembered from back at the apothecary, that both caused her tears and delighted in them. And as he stepped forward into the room, his smirk was unmistakably predatory.

Hermione fell backwards on the bed and scooted away from him in a futile attempt to put some distance between them. Should she be relieved that he wasn't angry, or more afraid because he was amused? "Stay the fuck away from me," she spat, inching away from him even more to supplement her point.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, but, to Hermione's incredible astonishment, listened. Instead he folded his arms and maintained a rather intimidating stance over the bed to make up for that concession. His voice was softer, but with a more dangerous undertone, the next time he spoke. "Find out something you… didn't like?"

She wanted nothing more than to wipe that self-satisfied smirk from his face, but preservation instinct had far more power over her actions right now than anger did. Hermione was grateful for it.

She decided to avoid his question. Working to keep her voice steady, she asked, "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough."

Well, that certainly cleared things up. Thank you Leo, king of the obvious. She tried again, hoping not to push her luck. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said slowly, "I never left." His eyes didn't stray from hers. He seemed like he was waiting for some sort of dramatic reaction, and by Merlin, he got one.

She felt a surge of pure anger flow through her at his confession (although she wouldn't really call it a confession, he seemed rather delighted about it) and she sat up, a challenging glare in her eyes. "You _WHAT_? You mean to tell me you were here, this whole time, and… and…" She couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the fact that she hadn't been observant enough to spot him, and she had even _showered_… had he…?

"No," he said, annoyed, as if reading her mind. "I can't make myself _invisible_, for Merlin's sake." Well, that was probably a lie, she thought. If he could keep a pet Werewolf, then he could certainly get a hold of an invisibility cloak made of Demiguise hair. But then she remembered she was supposed to be afraid of him, and decided not to point it out.

"Why did you bother to hide yourself?" She asked warily, still not entirely comfortable with the idea of him having watched her all morning, even if he hadn't seen anything he wasn't supposed to. Well, technically, she assumed she wasn't supposed to have been in his room, and he _had_ seen that, but here he was now, and that wasn't the most pressing issue at the moment anyway. "What could you have possibly gained by watching an invalid hop around your apartment and talk to owls?"

His smirk grew and he stepped closer to the edge of the bed, but Hermione stood (or sat) her ground. It was, after all, a legitimate inquiry.

"I wanted to let you find out the truth for yourself. It seemed like much more fun than just telling you."

He was toying with her, and that made her temper flare. "What do you mean, the _truth_?" She already had a pretty good idea about what that was, but wanted to hear it straight from the horse's mouth.

Much to her annoyance, though, he asked another question instead of answering hers. "Why are you suddenly so afraid of me, Hermione?" He was still smirking in that way that people do when they already know the answer to what they've asked.

But something in Hermione snapped. This one had been a long time coming.

"Well, let's see," she sighed, putting her finger to her chin as if thinking hard. "First, you show up out of the blue, murder someone, and threaten me. Then, you rifle through my memories, drug me, and kidnap me. You trap me in this nearly uninhabitable flat without food or clothing or _necessary_ items, and disappear for hours at a time!" Her voice was becoming shrill as the list went on, and Leo's eyebrows had shot past his hairline. "Now, my bloody ankle's broken, and that's still your fault by proxy for having kept me in here, you've isolated me from everything I know and my friends and family with little hope for return, and now - " she was nearly in tears, " – I find out your not only a murderer and a kidnapper and an altogether _horrible _person in general, but you k-keep… y-you fucking keep _WEREWOLVES_ as bloody _PETS_!"

She tried to blink her tears back, but as her anger began to give way to a suffocating hopelessness and fear once more, she couldn't stop herself… no matter how much she hated that he was seeing her cry. Again.

Leo had resumed his Intimidation stance, but looked down upon her reluctantly sobbing form with an eerie sort of calm. He gave a moment for her words to sink in before speaking again. "Are you quite finished?"

If she had been in any other state of mind, she would have had the overwhelming desire to punch him. But at the moment, that didn't seem like a top priority. She gave in and nodded, wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks and feeling very small.

"Good." And suddenly he was all business. If their exchange had affected him at all, he was doing a wonderful job of not showing it. Hermione was too upset to be irritated with him, at least at the moment. "Compose yourself. You're going to need to listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you."

Faster than she could blink, he was on the bed with her, holding a fistful the front of her dress in his left hand. His face was very close to hers. He was not being gentle.

"You're stuck here, so deal with it," he hissed. "I don't like it any more than you do, so your complaints are useless. You'll make things a hell of a lot easier for both of us if you quit trying to escape, and just accept the circumstances. This arrangement doesn't have to be permanent, but at the moment I can't see any other way to keep my secret. Obliviation is a lot trickier than you think, and if I even leave so much as a crumb of information about me in that brain of yours, I'm done for. So I'm not willing to risk it."

For a moment Hermione thought she saw a flash of yellow in his eyes, but thankfully he let go of her then, and she was sure she had imagined it.

He didn't move from the bed though. "I've gone to the trouble," he said, his anger curiously dissolving, "of thinking of a way in which we can both be more… ah… comfortable."

It was time for Hermione's eyebrows to shoot upwards. Something about his tone creeped her out a little, but she gave a small nod, for lack of anything else to say.

"What were you doing at the apothecary, the day that we met?"

Well if she'd expected anything, it wasn't that. And "met" was too… nice of a word to describe their encounter, but she was learning when the right time was to keep her mouth shut. Kind of. "I told you, I was buying moonstone powder."

"For what?"

Hermione looked at him sideways. Why should _he _care? "For a Peace Draught." Then she suddenly realized it was the first time in the past three days that she had even bothered to think about it. Of course, she had other, more pressing things taking up her headspace, but it was a small ray of sunshine to think that she hadn't even wanted one, in all this craziness. She couldn't suppress the small grin that appeared on her face. Maybe there really was hope for her yet.

"How often would you say you make these?"

Her grin vanished. There was no way she could tell Leo that without openly admitting she had an addiction. He was staring at her so intensely though, she hardly felt she had a choice. "As often as I need them," she said ambiguously, looking at her hands.

Leo was a good reader of body language, apparently. He paused thoughtfully, then after a moment, said, "Would you say you're good at making other kinds of potions?"

She looked up again, searching his face with a quizzical expression on her own. "Well, yes, I suppose, as long as I have clear instructions I can make just about anything. But what are you - "

"Wolfsbane potion?" His eyes glinted dangerously. This time, Hermione wasn't so sure she had imagined that flash of yellow in his irises earlier.

And then, she realized that there _was_ something worse than your kidnapper having a pet Werewolf.

It was him being one.

"Oh, no," she breathed, backing up again and panicking as the edge of the bed came in contact with her hands. "Oh, no no no. No. No!"

Leo didn't appear fazed. "Unfortunately, the correct answer would be 'yes'. " Before she nearly lost her balance off the side of the bed in shock, Leo's had snatched up her ankle with lightning-quick reflexes and pulled her back towards him. She shrieked, clawing at the comforter and scrambling to get away, but she only screamed in agony, as his viselike grip was around her broken ankle and not her healthy one.

He quickly let go of her ankle as soon as she was close enough and launched himself forward, pinning her shoulders with his forearms. She struggled underneath him but he was, of course, much larger and stronger. He knelt over her patiently, waiting until she stopped resisting, and looked her dead in the face.

Hermione's eyes were wide, round as saucers, as she stared back up at him. She didn't dare breathe. She had never felt so incredibly vulnerable and helpless in her whole life.

"Here's the deal." His breath tickled her ear. "I'll provide you those… _necessary_ items - "

"Food, clothing, toiletries," she enumerated before she could stop herself, and Leo growled at the interruption. She snapped her mouth shut instantly.

"Right. Whatever. But only under the condition that you brew my Wolfsbane potion every month. Otherwise… I can ensure that your time here will be quite _miserable_."

How was _that_ negotiation? Being forced to cook a potion she didn't want to cook for a person she didn't like, in exchange for what she needed to live somewhere she didn't want to be in the first place. But she didn't argue, because frankly the best time to make your point was not from underneath a Werewolf. And she assumed that if she didn't make the potion, he would still turn into a Werewolf on the full moon, and that would be the end of her either way.

Her tears had dried on her face now. "Why can't you just make it?" she asked, but not rudely. She genuinely wondered if there was a reason, besides that he just wanted her to pay him back in some way for staying in his flat. It was a bit backwards, of course, but conniving as Leo was, he apparently wanted her to feel like he was the one doing her a favor, and not the other way around.

Much to her relief, he moved off of her and sat back with a sigh. She lifted herself to a sitting position, wary of his gaze on her; he was not going to let her try and get away from him a second time. "I never was gifted in the art of potion-making," he admitted, but he hardly seemed ashamed of it. Too bad; it was something Hermione would've liked to throw in his face later.

"I see." Hermione was skeptical, but he probably wouldn't be revealing a weakness in front of her just for the sake of doing it. He certainly had his pride, after all.

He swung his feet back down to the floor and stood. It relieved her slightly that there was more distance between them now, but he still towered over her, and that didn't give her much more peace of mind. "That," he said, gesturing towards the broken trunk in his closet, "up until recently, is where I used to spend my… ah, nights."

"Up until recently," she repeated slowly. "That thing has some really powerful, ancient magic in it though… and it couldn't contain you?"

He gave her a look that said, 'Obviously.'

"How'd you manage to get your hands on something like that?"

"Stole it."

Well, she wasn't surprised.

"Point is," he continued, rubbing his hands on his stubble, "I've never been able to brew my Wolfsbane quite right. Locking myself in there has been torture, I'll tell you, but better that than Apparate to some forest and run around where I'm more likely to be caught or killed. But my last transformation had some… complications. As you can plainly see."

Hermione was still baffled as to how the magic hadn't held. _I guess it just took one beating too many? Trunks like that certainly weren't made to keep Weres._

But then she remembered the story that the runes depicted. Challenges… a shining light coming through the dark… death of a dark period. She nearly expected to see a lightbulb shining above her head when she spotted the silver on the trunk, too. Of course!

Her "Aha!" moment was short-lived, though, when she remembered the punched-out side. _Bollocks. _She may have been right about the specially-built trunks to contain Weres, but they were apparently unreliable. When she retreated from her thoughts, she realized Leo had been talking.

"… need to find a new place to stow myself, but if I have a satisfactory Wolfsbane potion then I might not need to take as many precautionary measures."

Hermione was all for him taking as many precautionary measures as he could. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck with Lycan Leo in his one-bedroom flat.

She would've giggled if she'd had her wits about her._ Lycan Leo. _Making jokes was a sign of her mental state improving, right? Or… was that the opposite?

"Is that why you killed that man?" Hermione asked suddenly, surprised by the strength in her voice. Now that she knew Leo needed her for something, as opposed to her simply being a burden upon him, she supposed she could take a few more liberties. "You were stealing Aconite from him." But it was more of a definitive statement than a question, and Leo looked mock- impressed.

He nudged the closet door shut with the toe of his boot, and after a moment, focused back on Hermione. "I'll supply you with whatever is needed to complete your task for me." She didn't really want to know how. His eyes narrowed, glinting dangerously again, and she was alert instantly. "You're an intelligent witch. Don't be stupid enough to try and poison me, Hermione. You could end up with something far worse than an angry Werewolf to deal with."

With that cryptic statement, his chilling smirk returned, and he turned on his heel to go prepare lunch.

And Hermione was left sitting on the bed, dazedly thinking that right now maybe a Peace Draught didn't sound so bad after all.


	7. Looking for the Silver Lining

**In this chapter we meet a new character (she's fun… you'll like her!) and see a slightly different side of Leo… not as much drama here, but that could also be the fact that I was listening to The Kinks the entire time I wrote it.  
**

**Warning: this chapter contains spoilers from Deathly Hallows. Also, I should probably mention that this story does not contain Horcruxes of any sort: it is AU after all….**

* * *

Nadine Clement was just your average struggling fashion journalist.

Except, well… she wasn't.

If you could look past, for example, the stark-but-comfy-chic loft apartment, too-perky roommate, and hodgepodge collection of experimental and obscure indie music, you would find that, at 22, she was also a licensed kickboxing instructor with a half a degree in Criminology (she liked to think of it as half, anyway, because she hated having put all that work into it for nothing). She abandoned that career track altogether upon discovering her true calling: bartending.

Of course, considering that she was now in charge of a column (albeit a small one) for _Stiletto _magazine, you can see how well that worked out.

"I'm just a small-town girl with big-city dreams," she used to say. Nadine's parents had grown up in England, but she was born and bred in Dallas, Texas, electing to hop back across the pond for her schooling after turning 18 (and living comfortably off of mommy and daddy's money). Her parents had been planning on moving back there, or so they had been saying for the past few years; she didn't really expect much to come out of that anytime soon. But she _had_ adopted some strange combination of a Southern and British accent that never failed to turn a few heads when she spoke.

Not that she ever had a problem turning heads, anyway. It could have been her long, silky auburn hair, her bright green eyes and full, rosy lips, and pale skin with a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Or it could have been her height, which, at 5'10, was intimidating enough without adding the 4-inch heels that she practically lived in. Although on mornings like the one she was currently having, she preferred to curse their very existence. Literally.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Fuck it _all_!"

Nadine had caught the edge of an outdoor café table as she stumbled forward, sloshing coffee all down the front of her new red peacoat and gray pencil skirt (which she had left the tag on, just in case. Oh well.). The heel of her one of her suede black boots had gotten stuck in a sidewalk crack, and was now dangling from the shoe like a miserable dead rat.

Nadine felt as miserable as she imagined that rat might.

What had startled her, though, had been the vibrating of her cell phone, and she now reached into her pocket to retrieve the irritating little bugger. She flipped it open. "Talk to me," she growled, quickly snatching a folded linen napkin from one of the café tables and trying to blot out the stain, limping away before a maître d' could spot her.

"Kelly needs that sample dress by one o'clock, and you had better get it here before her lunch break is over, either way. Where on earth _are_ you?"

Nadine did _not_ need someone policing her, and certainly not yelling at her, when she had just decimated her favorite Jimmy Choos. "Hell," she snapped, and the phone clicked shut.

It rang again before she could slip it back into her pocket. She didn't bother to look at Caller ID. "_WHAT? " _she screamed into the mouthpiece, drawing stares from both sides of the narrow street.

"Uh… Nadine?"

Her prepared stream of insults died in her throat. "_Liam?"_

His voice was grim. "The one and only. Listen, I, need to ask a favor of you."

She wasn't the least bit surprised at this revelation. Why _else _would she expect him to call her? "Oh, do you now?" she said with a trace of bitterness. "This really isn't the best time, Liam. I was called in to work this morning on my fucking day off and I'm _really_ not in the mood."

"Well, right now I'm not a fucking ray of sunshine myself, either," he snapped back. "But it's not a favor for me. I'm having a… uh…" he floundered for words for a moment, "… kind of a family issue."

Nadine felt most of the anger _whoosh_ out of her. "I thought you said you didn't have any family?" She stuffed the stained napkin in her handbag, reached down, and tore the dangling portion of her heel clean off so she wouldn't trip (she might as well have been ripping out her heart, also). That, too, she stuffed in her handbag, before leaning against the brick wall of a nearby storefront.

"Well apparently, I do. It's uh… my second cousin. Her house burned down a few days ago and she's staying at my flat for a while."

Nadine shuddered. Liam hadn't cleaned the place in months, and while they had been dating she had refused to set foot in there. "Well, what can I do?" Any girl that was forced to stay in that flat _deserved_ a little help.

He sighed as if he was reluctant to even be putting her up at his place. What an arse! Family is family, no matter what. Apparently that was an idea that would take him some getting-used-to. "She lost everything, so she doesn't have any clothes… or, well, _anything_ with her. But she, uh, broke her ankle trying to get out of the burning house, so she can't shop for them herself. I was wondering, since I'm not really good with this stuff, if you could –"

"Oh, of course!" she said, all traces of her bad mood quickly replaced by guilt. She hardly felt as if she had the right to be unhappy about a pair of shoes and a stained blouse, when this poor girl had it far worse than she did. "I can start as soon as I get off work at two. The poor dear. What's her name? What size is she?"

There was a grimace in Liam's voice that Nadine chose to ignore. "She says she's a 6, an in shoes." He hastily added, "Look, I can just pick them up from you. Don't bother coming here at all…"

But Nadine clicked the phone shut mid-sentence, her spirits significantly lifted by the prospect of an afternoon of retail therapy.

* * *

"Bugger," Leo mumbled, peering at the tiny screen. The words 'Call Ended, 01:57' blinked for a moment before disappearing. He had to admit that Wizards were unwise not to give more credit to Muggle technology, but sometimes he was simply baffled by it, no matter how much he was used to living without magic. He was getting along alright with his cellular phone, but in no way had the patience to try and figure out computers, or those eye-pods, whatever they were called.

He glanced over at the couch where Hermione was eyeing him expectantly, her foot propped up on a pillow. He glowered back at her. She certainly had some nerve, making those demands of hers. Of course, he wouldn't openly admit to himself that she had had a bit of a point, because doing that would also mean admitting that she was here to stay. For a while, anyway, until a better solution presented itself.

He prayed that one would.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stuffed his phone back in his jacket pocket and stepped out of the front hallway. Leo had a feeling he was going to regret this later, but he hadn't seen an easier way to get the problem solved; it would be a cold day in hell when he sank to the role of personal shopper. She was bloody lucky he had even consented to do this at all.

She nodded at him hesitantly over the back of the couch. Well, he still had her afraid of him, which was a plus. He suppressed a smirk, lest she misinterpret it as him being pleased that she had gotten what she wanted. She _was_ still his prisoner, after all.

"Who was that you were talking to?" she asked.

Leo went into the kitchen, grabbing a Muggle beer from the fridge. The stuff wasn't so bad once you got used to it, although he was really craving a firewhiskey at the moment to clear his head. He hadn't had one in over a year.

He uncapped the bottle and took a swig, peering at Hermione over the half-wall in a way that he hoped was more intimidating than his nonchalant body language. "That's not really any of your business, is it?" he said, but then thought about it. If Nadine was going to drop the clothes off here later, she'd almost certainly want to meet the person she had bought them for. He could say Hermione was sleeping, but she'd just want to come back later and keep her company, or some bullshit. And the same would be true if he went to pick up the clothes instead of having her come by.

Fucking bleeding heart.

He supposed he could just Obliviate her. He'd done it to Nadine before, and Muggles were easier to perform it on, anyhow. But it was unnecessary… and suddenly, he remembered that Jarrod knew he had a girl in his flat, too. Well, shit. It was better if he had a cover story.

"_Bollocks_," he groaned. "I'm going to have to tell you, I guess, because she's coming by later." When he saw Hermione's eyes light up, though, he had to do quick damage control. "Don't even think I won't _Impirius_ you if you can't act like a pathetic girl whose house just burned to the bloody ground. I'm warning you."

Indignant, she had opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off with his deep laughter as he walked around the counters and towards the couch again. "Doll, you can't even _go_ anywhere, so running's out of the question. And you don't have a wand, so I think you'd better listen to the person here who does."

Hermione sat up and crossed her arms in a huff. "Don't call me 'doll'. And quit goading me. Just tell me what I need to know." She did her best to glare daggers at him but really only accomplished looking slightly cross-eyed. He burst out in laughter again and this time, she really did look pissed. Oh, joy.

"You're going to meet my ex, Nadine. She's a Muggle who works at some chick magazine or something." He could see Hermione becoming skeptical, and didn't really blame her. "Doesn't seem my type, I know. But she was kind of a one-night-stand, and…" Why was he bothering to explain himself? Was he worried that he couldn't keep her convinced that she should be afraid of him, if she knew he had dated a flippant fashion journalist? Like hell. And in his defense, she had been a bartender when he met her. "Anyway, that's not the point," he said, squaring his shoulders. "The point is, she's my ex, and we've somehow remained civil with one another."

"Oh, that's bloody terrific," Hermione deadpanned. "That's one less thing to worry about, a crazy ex-girlfriend. I didn't need any more on _my_ plate."

In an instant, he had crossed the room and was hovering over her. Her eyes were wide again, but not as fearful as they'd been earlier that morning. He couldn't be _already_ losing his touch, could he? "It'd make things a whole lot more pleasant if you'd shut your bloody smart-ass mouth," he growled, and he reached into his back pocket to grab his wand.

Before Hermione could blink, he'd tapped it on her throat and muttered something. In a moment of panic, she had her hands on his chest and was shoving him away from her, but the damage was done; she opened her mouth to curse at him, and no sound came out.

He stepped back from the couch, smoothing the shirt that she'd wrinkled, and gave her a smile that was sure to make her blood boil. "Can't believe I didn't think of that sooner."

Her face was nearly five shades of red right now, and it only made his smirk wider. She looked him straight in the eye and mouthed very clearly: _Fuck. You._

"What was that?" He put his hand to his ear as if he was struggling to listen. "Did you say something?"

She gave a soundless scream of frustration and fell backwards onto the couch, covering her face with a pillow.

"That's what I thought."

_Score one for the Werewolf._

* * *

It must have been hours later when Hermione was jerked awake by a hard shove to her shoulder. "Get up, Hermione. Wake up! Nadine's just buzzed through the lobby."

She gave a disoriented moan (and smiled to herself that it was actually audible. Leo must have removed the charm while she was sleeping) and pulled herself to a sitting position with some difficulty. When had she fallen asleep? She couldn't even remember closing her eyes…

The sun was low in the sky now, and the clock read 7:02. Hermione sighed. Another lousy day spent wasting away on her derrière. She imagined that this was the most she had ever slept in a single day, and instead of feeling rested, she simply felt like a useless lump. Idleness was not something Hermione did well, and she was almost looking forward to being put to the task of making Leo's Wolfsbane potion. It would give her something to do, at least, and might make time go by a little more quickly. She couldn't believe it was only day three of her captivity; it felt like a bloody lifetime.

A swift rapping on the door brought Hermione's attention back to the reason why she had been woken so rudely in the first place. _Nadine! _Her heart soared, and she was afraid it might beat out of her chest. The prospect of simply _seeing_ another human being made her want to do cartwheels around the living room. Even if she couldn't run, even if she didn't have a wand, even under the threat of Leo's _Impirius _curse, she still had some sort of hope.

She could feel the gears turning in her head. This might be her only chance to have contact with an outsider; she had to milk it for all it was worth.

Leo's hand paused on the doorknob and he shot her a significant look. "Remember what we talked about," he hissed, before unlatching the deadbolt and opening the door.

"Well _hello_ there!"

Hermione shared Leo's slight grimace, in spite of herself. She had had enough doom and gloom in the past three days to last her a lifetime; she could handle one cheery, high-pitched voice. Odd accent though, she observed.

Leo said some greeting that Hermione couldn't hear. She strained to see what was going on, but the door remained half-closed, and Leo filled up the other half quite nicely.

There was a pregnant pause and a rustling of bags, and Hermione heard, "Liam, aren't you going to invite me in?"

Liam. So that was his Muggle name, then. She made a note of it.

Leo reluctantly cracked open the door and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She had almost been afraid that he was going to just take the bags right out there in the hallway, but as the door was shoved the rest of the way open (nearly taking out the wall behind it) she had a feeling that this girl wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

And she certainly knew how to make an entrance! Nearly six feet of supermodel/Amazon ex-girlfriend came strutting through the foyer toting five or six bulging shopping bags. She dropped them by the kitchen and turned to Hermione, tossing back her curtain of dark hair and flashing a thousand-Galleon smile.

Hermione beamed back, feeling slightly overwhelmed with giddiness as Nadine all but skipped around the couch, taking both of her hands firmly in her own. They were warm and manicured. "I'm Nadine," she said enthusiastically, and Hermione instantly liked her.

There was no question as to why she and Leo were no longer a couple.

The latter was currently glowering at them from the doorway, and Hermione had a moment of Umbridge-like satisfaction. "Since my cousin obviously needs someone to remind him of his manners and clearly does not possess the decency to introduce me, I'm Hermione." She couldn't stop smiling, even though she knew she would pay for this later.

"Oh, like Shakespeare!" Nadine exclaimed, and Hermione thought it was impossible for her grin to get any wider.

"I really, really do appreciate you having done this for me, Nadine."

"Oh it's not a bother at all, I promise you. I had the most awful morning but once Liam called me with your errand, I perked right up!"

_I can see that_, she thought, but it was certainly a welcome change of pace. She folded her legs up against her chest so Nadine would have room to sit next to her on the sofa. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

She hesitated, undoubtedly wary about allowing her designer dark-wash denim to come in contact with the mystery polyblend (and probably moldy, somewhere) fibers of Leo's couch, but her sympathy for Hermione outweighed whatever was holding her back, and she sat.

Hermione felt Leo's glare burning a hole through her back. He clearly had expected this to be a quick in-and-out, but Hermione was going to fight him tooth and nail, if she had to. "I'm so glad you were able to stop by. It's been just _miserable_ here all by myself. Not a thing to do at all, except rest my leg, and –" she lowered her voice slightly, so that Leo could still hear " – without any decent reading material or even a telly, I'm simply going mad with boredom!" She lowered her voice even more. "It's almost as if Liam keeps me_ locked away_ from the rest of the world. I feel so _isolated_," she hinted.

Nadine nodded sympathetically. "I've been there myself, darling, not a fun place." She was referring to the ankle. Hermione deflated a little, until Nadine's eyes took in the thin sheet that was thrown over the back of the couch. "Is this where you_ sleep_?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, casting her eyes downward in what she hoped came across as embarrassment. "But it's okay, really. I'm thankful to have anywhere to live, at all, even if it does sometimes feel like a _prison cell_." She coughed a little and spared a glance at Leo, who looked as if he were straining against something. His hands were in fists, stuffed down his pockets. One of those pockets had a wand in it, Hermione knew, but she was having too much fun.

"Are you okay? You're not sick, are you?" Nadine was fretting about Hermione's cough, and Hermione held up a hand.

"I've just had a bit of a cough since the fire… smoke inhalation, and all that. Although…" she lowered her voice to a whisper. "… there's so much dust and mildew in this place, it's a wonder I can breathe at all." And that, at least was the truth. Of course, the lower Nadine's opinion of Leo, the better; she seemed kind-hearted enough to want to return and visit Hermione if she knew she was miserable and not being treated well. For some reason, Leo was friends with this girl, and he probably couldn't refuse _all_ of her requests to see Hermione without rousing suspicion. She prayed that eventually this Oscar-winning performance would pay off.

Nadine nodded in agreement. "I never did like it here," she said, not lowering her voice as Hermione had, for Leo's benefit. "Perhaps it just needs a woman's touch though. I stocked Liam up completely with state-of-the-art cleaning supplies once, hoping he could take the hint, but from the look of things, they're probably all gathering dust below the sink and haven't moved since I put them there."

Leo cleared his throat to remind the two of them that he was still in the room, but Nadine only huffed and shot him a look of disgust. "Well, it's true, you know. This place is a disaster, and it's a shame that you couldn't even bother to do more to make Hermione's stay more comfortable – don't you roll your eyes at me! You don't know the first thing about hospitality, never did!"

Hermione could feel her face reddening from trying to hold back the laughter that was bubbling up in her chest. Nadine was lecturing him, actually _lecturing _him! And he was taking it? (By 'taking it,' she supposed she meant his head hadn't exploded yet.) Was this the same Leo that had her pinned to the bed that very morning?

And then, with that entirely unintentional sequencing of words in her head, surfaced a completely different image than the one she recalled from before, and she was red for a whole different reason.

Thankfully though, Leo quickly interrupted her thoughts. "I think it's time for you to be leaving," he all but growled, nodding towards Nadine. She frowned at him and stood reluctantly, brushing off her pants (brushing _what_ off, Hermione could only guess). "Hermione, it was really a pleasure to meet you, and don't bother trying to pay me back because I won't accept a penny of it, not after the way Liam's been keeping you. It's my gift."

Hermione genuinely tried to protest but Nadine wouldn't have any of it. She was secretly relieved though, because to be frank, she hadn't exactly expected Leo to follow through on his promise, and therefore didn't put any thought into how she was going to pay. She didn't have any Muggle money, only the few Galleons she had brought with her to Knockturn Alley (that were still sitting in her cloak). "You really are too generous, Nadine. I don't know how I can ever thank you for your incredible kindness." Her words were completely sincere this time.

"Don't you mention it. Just let me know how everything fits, dear, and I'll be back to check up on you!" She slapped Leo's hand away; he had been ready to push her towards the foyer. His eyes flashed dangerously and Hermione could tell that he was positively kicking himself for allowing the two of them to meet at all. "I'll see myself out, thank you," she snapped. Her mood seemed to have done an about-face, but Hermione didn't mind if it wasn't directed towards her.

And then, she was gone, and seemed to take all of the light and air in the flat with her. Nadine's presence had filled even the darkest corners of the room with warmth, and Hermione immediately missed it.

And she assumed yet another confrontation with Leo was inevitable. Lovely.

This was all getting old. Really fast.

* * *

"You're sure?" Dumbledore peered through his half-moon spectacles at the black-haired professor that was seated comfortably in front of his desk. "This is information he would have trusted you with, yes?"

"I'm sure," Snape said confidently. "If he was planning to do anything through a Hogwarts student, I would be the first to know about it."

Dumbldore raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing. He couldn't have Severus losing favor with Voldemort before their plans were carried out. Perhaps Severus was slightly disillusioned about his standing with the Dark Lord, but he knew that was less likely than the prospect of Hermione having been taken by a third party.

"You must ensure that he does not discover Hermione is missing. If he finds her before we do, that will certainly beget a whole new score of problems that we cannot even begin to imagine."

Snape nodded curtly. "Albus, what have you told the students?"

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "Of course, those who matter know the truth."

Snape snorted unceremoniously. "Do you believe for a second that our resident hero Potter will take this sitting down? Knowing him, he and Weasley are undoubtedly concocting some little plan to rush to her rescue as we speak."

"There is nothing they can do for her right now. Harry realizes as much. We must be careful of the information we give them, though, because I am certain you are correct; however, I am hoping that Dedalus and Nymphadora will be able to return her to us before the boy is driven to any serious action."

"What of the other students? Surely her absence of her… _eager _hand in every class won't go unnoticed."

"If anyone asks, the Professors been instructed to say she had family issues to attend to, but offer nothing more."

"Sir," he drawled, "if the Dark Lord believes Hermione's disappearance is significant, he will hardly believe that is the extent of my knowledge on the matter."

"Then," Dumbledore said, leaning over his desk and looking Snape in the eye, "if it comes to that, you must convince him that her absence is _not_ significant. For everyone's sake."

* * *

**AN:** Well, we're all entitled to our dating mistakes, even Leo. He's had a pretty awful past, as you will eventually discover. Cut the guy some slack! :)

And I know the inside of an ugly flat not only gets boring for Hermione, but for readers, too… don't worry. There's still plenty yet to happen!


	8. Living Nightmare

**I'm freakin STOKED about Part 2 of DH coming out as I know you all are! GET EXCITED!**

**Warning: This chapter get a little violent.**

* * *

Dusk gave way to darkness and then sunlight once more, as the hours dragged into days, and the days bled together until Hermione began to lose count of them. Autumn had wearily submitted to an early winter after a half-hearted struggle during the final weeks of November, and nights like tonight were the miserable result of it.

In the days following Nadine's guilt trip, Leo had begrudgingly given Hermione a stack of old quilts in addition to the sheet she usually slept with. And after a series of steep temperature drops overnight and much griping on Hermione's part, Leo had cast warming charms over the blankets. Now, despite her frozen nose, the combination of Leo's spells and the friendly rattle of the heating unit made her sleeping situation somewhat more bearable.

Hermione felt more secure in knowing that she had Nadine's sympathies, even if it was unlikely she'd visit again anytime soon (her opinion of the condition of Leo's flat was difficult to miss). She was just grateful to have some sort of a link to the 'outside world' that _wasn't_ Leo, and that in itself had helped to initially sustain what was now, after a few fruitless weeks, her rapidly dwindling hope. Her spirits were only slightly lifted by the fact that she was starting to be able to bear some weight on her ankle, and had upgraded her mode of transportation from the 'bunny hop' to the 'twitchy limp.' Leo, in a rare show of humanity, had transfigured a drinking straw into a cane for her to use.

Stunned as she was by Nadine's generosity with the clothing situation, Hermione, of course, would pay her back eventually no matter what it took; she had never been comfortable with the idea of being in anyone's debt, monetarily or otherwise. But Nadine had proven that there were still some genuinely selfless and well-meaning people in the world, and that reassurance was priceless to Hermione, especially after several years of having been well acquainted with the darker side of human nature.

Leo had watched her unwrap the clothing with a sneer at her excitement, but she had refused to let him ruin that small bit of happiness for her. The garments were by no means designer (Hermione was glad that Nadine hadn't wasted her money on those kinds of things anyway, because she doubted she could fully appreciate them the way they were meant to be) but they were well-made and comfortable: soft, cable-knit sweaters, a few pairs of denim jeans, cotton blouses, thermal t-shirts, and several pairs of sweatpants and tank tops for sleeping in. A quick peek in one of the bags had her blushing at Leo, and she merely rummaged through the contents instead of pulling them out: boy-shorts and tanga style knickers (no G-strings, she was relieved to see) and bras to match. It seemed as if Nadine had greatly overestimated her bust size, but it was nothing that couldn't be resized with magic… unfortunately, she ended up having to ask Leo for that favor, which was understandably awkward.

A smaller bag had contained shampoo, conditioner (although she wouldn't at all have minded continuing to use Leo's Sleek-Eazy), toothpaste, a toothbrush, and feminine products, of which Hermione was especially grateful to Nadine for having thought about. She had been taking a special regulating potion akin to Muggle birth control, but obviously didn't have access to it anymore, and it was nice to be able to silence that small worry in the back of her head, considering that she already had quite enough on her plate to be anxious about.

Hermione had given up on sleep for the time being, having tossed and turned for the past hour. She had pulled the blinds long ago to block out the glow of streetlamp below the window, and figured she had either her nap from earlier or her wandering thoughts to blame for her insomnia.

In the darkness, she shivered and clutched the old quilt to her chin. The faint smell of dog was imbedded in its fibers and she wrinkled her nose, but the odor was quickly masked by the stale smell of burning dust that wafted through the flat, courtesy of the ancient heater.

For the umpteenth time since she was taken, she found herself wondering about her parents, and how much they had been told. Did they still think she was safely tucked away in the foothills of Scotland? Were they cuddled together on the sofa without a clue, laughing over midnight re-runs of Monty Python's Flying Circus? She almost hoped that they were oblivious; she much preferred that image to one of her mother in tears. Even if it sometimes it was nice to have people be worried for you, she couldn't imagine what they might be going through…

She had always known they were insecure about their lack of understanding about the world that had swallowed up their only daughter… who wouldn't be? To them, she might as well have disappeared in a foreign country, for all their ability to do anything about the situation.

Which was, more or less, the truth.

Hermione tucked the quilts more firmly around her, sinking down deeper into the lumpy cushions of the old sofa. She couldn't believe that it was almost December. It took her a moment to realize that she was blinking back hot tears, as images of past Christmases began to bubble up in her memory. Hermione hadn't spent Christmas with her parents since Voldemort returned; she had been too afraid for their safety. But most holidays before then had found their little threesome traveling to strange and exotic places, and she cherished those experiences more than anything.

Being able to travel with her mum and dad was somewhat of a rock for Hermione. Hogwarts, magic, everything about her life there had driven a wedge between them… It began from the moment she was told she was a witch, and it would never stop. It'd just sink deeper.

They couldn't understand this world, and what pained her even more was that she could never _make _them understand it. No amount of explanation and logic did anything but make them nod their heads and give those patronizing smiles she had become so accustomed to. And it broke her heart, the fact that she couldn't make them see.

But when those moments were forgotten, when they were camping and touring and being whisked away to faraway places, they were a family. They were each as lost and alone and foreign as the other; not one of them belonged. And it was perfect, if only for that time.

When Hermione felt the familiar prickle of tears behind her eyes, she shut off her thoughts on the subject. She would _not_ cry. Instead she reminded herself how easy it was to forget about them, now, so far away from it all. So far away from the world she was used to.

Hermione was also disheartened by how quickly she had become accustomed to putting up with Leo's antics and living on his sofa. But should she truly be upset that she wasn't miserable? A part of her said yes, that by accepting her circumstances she was only giving in and giving up, but a bigger part of her denied that acceptance meant submission. In fact, it was almost empowering that she could feel at ease in her situation, because she still had her own mission to consider.

Although, _when_ considered, she realized she wasn't really making much progress on that front.

She could still count on one hand all the things she knew about her captor. _It's not for lack of trying, _she thought, frustrated. Leo was certainly not the most talkative person, although in the past few days she had been able to redirect petty arguments and turn them into less hostile banter. It was almost endearing to see Sirius's sense of humor shine through Leo's dark veneer.

_Wait. Whoa. What? Endearing? I must have meant Hagrid's definition of the word. Leo is about as endearing as a hairless cat. _

She wanted to hate him. Really, she did. He was a murderer, a kidnapper, and a criminal. He was a bloody _werewolf_. And yet… somehow, she felt compelled to give him the benefit of the doubt.

_Why?_

_For Sirius?_

"It's allmmm… bloody fault…."

Hermione shot upwards, heart suddenly on overdrive. What the…

"Can't…. trust…"

The semi-coherent strings of words were traveling down the hallway from Leo's cracked door, and Hermione strained to hear more as she wrapped the top blanket around her shoulders and supported herself on her good leg. As she inched towards the door, there was more murmuring, but nothing she could understand.

The door opened with a slight protest from unoiled hinges to reveal a tossing, turning Leo. Sweating profusely, he had kicked off most of his blankets and his black curls were plastered to his forehead. His muscles rippled, glistening with perspiration under the light of a nearly full moon streaming through his half-open blinds. Hermione watched him submerged in his nightmare with piqued interest, praying to anyone that he wouldn't wake up and see her standing in his doorway.

Suddenly, her heart jumped in her throat.

"_My Lord…"_

She gulped, half-hoping she had misheard him, but those words rang through the room clear as a bell.

* * *

_He was kneeling on a marble floor in a dimly-lit room, facing a dais with a chair in which a tall, cloaked figure sat. Long, spindly fingers tapped the armrest methodically. Leo hoped that the waves of hatred he was sending his way were giving the accomplished Legilimens a sizeable headache. But his face was stoic and his eyes lowered; he saw Lucius give a microscopic nod in his peripheral vision, and the ghost of a smile. _

_The floor fell away and the figures twisted into silhouettes of tall trees against a setting sun. Mountain ranges stretched for miles in the distance. Leo shivered slightly and shifted his rucksack on his shoulders as the gravel road crunched beneath his boots. Another pair of boots fell into step next to his._

"_We'll make it by nightfall if we keep up this pace," said the man next to him. Leo pushed back his hair and said nothing as they continued under the canopy of gnarled trees. They trudged on in silence for a while longer, dusk slowly settling in, until the pair spotted lights that seemed to grow with every step, emerging from the hilltop in front of them. _

_The streetlamps blurred and twisted as the trees had done, shrinking into flickering candles on a wooden desktop where Leo's rucksack had been dumped. He tipped backwards in his chair, balancing on the back two legs with one boot on the desk, while the second man paced in front of the small kitchenette. _

"_Joshua, you need to calm your shit," Leo said, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm getting impatient, too, but you can't expect to win them over after just a few weeks. We need to make sure the job gets done. That's it. We can't afford to get frustrated and make mistakes. If we don't treat this delicately, if we can't make it happen…. there's no telling –" _

"_I've been hearing things, you know." Joshua stopped pacing to turn and face Leo. He ran his hands over his sandy blonde stubble in thought. "Dahlia warned me about the cubs…"_

"_Yes, I know," Leo growled impatiently, sitting up. "There will always be resistance when authority switches hands, but we can't let rumors about some rebel group of Were pups undermine the progress we've already made with Garouth. We're days away from getting the Unbreakable Vow from him."_

_Joshua sighed. "I know, it's just the full moon and everything is making me a bit antsy. I know we've put charms in place, but still…" He walked over to the window, eyes flitting back and forth over the empty streets…_

_Suddenly, a bloodcurdling yell erupted from Joshua's throat. A clawed arm burst forth from the window and wrapped around his neck, ripping his windpipe out in a shower of blood and shattered glass before the wizard could even reach for his wand._

_Leo didn't waste a millisecond to marvel at the gruesome scene before him or the werewolves that were emerging from the broken window, two, three, four of them… he snatched up a Muggle gun from the holster on his waist and fired into the pack. Their yellow eyes widened in surprise…. Leo growled back at them as he swiftly changed the magazine. They had taken Wolfsbane potion… they were completely cognizant of what they were doing._

_The first two wolves fell as the window closest to Leo shattered as well; he ducked and narrowly avoided the same fate as his partner as a blur of white soared overhead and collided with the wall next to him, accompanied with a sickening crunch. Leo was on autopilot, firing quickly and methodically. Four were down. Five. Six… and then…_

_There was nothing but pain. So, so much pain… and blood, everywhere, and his pulse was all he heard as he fired his last round of silver into the face of the wolf that had sunk its fangs into his shoulder… he didn't realize he was already on his knees as he spat blood and panted and screamed and screamed and screamed…._

"LEO! Leo, wake up! Leo, it's just a –"

Hermione's voice shook him from his nightmare and brought him back to the blue sheets of the bed in his London flat. He bolted upright, panting, clutching his shoulder that was now throbbing with phantom pain. A bead of sweat clung to the tip of his nose and tremored violently along with him.

"…. dream."

He met Hermione's wide, worried eyes for a split second. "Get out," he growled dangerously.

She backed out of the doorway hesitantly, eyes never leaving his.

"I said," Leo hissed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rearing up to his full height, dwarfing Hermione, "_**GET. THE FUCK. OUT**_!"

She didn't think a cripple had ever run so quickly.

* * *

AN: Dun dun dun! :) Let me know what you think about this little glimpse of Leo's past!


	9. Progress on the Periphery

Hermione shuddered on the sofa under the musty old quilts, knees pulled up to her chin, in the aftermath of Leo's outburst. But she wasn't just trembling because of the temperature – she was overcome with anger. She was so sick of Leo's attitude, his stubbornness… everything! Tomorrow Hermione was going to take things into her own hands, now that she had a little bit of leverage: she knew that Leo, either had been, or still was associated with Death Eaters… which wasn't as much of a shock to her as it should have been.

Neither of his arms bore the Dark Mark, so he couldn't have ever truly been one, and that put her slightly more at ease. But he had said "My Lord," in his sleep, loud and clear, and that clued Hermione into something important: He had been a subordinate to Voldemort. Since he wasn't marked for death by him (as evidenced by the fact that he was still alive), it could only indicate that he must have either been a servant unworthy of the Dark Mark, or waiting to receive it. With her knowledge of Leo's personality she was more inclined to believe the latter, regardless of how much she didn't want it to be true.

_Those screams, though… _

She didn't even want to try and imagine what it was that could make someone scream like that. Hermione massaged her forehead with the heels of her hands, sighed, and plopped on her back, pulling the quilt up to her shoulders. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

On the other side of the bedroom wall, Leo lay on top of his comforter, fingers woven together behind his head. The sweat had dried on his body, leaving a very fine layer of salt on his smooth, tanned skin. His breathing had returned to normal, but those horrific images stayed imprinted in his mind, branded into his memory. This wasn't the first time he'd had to relive what happened in Norway, and it wouldn't be the last. The dreams always got worse and worse as the full moon neared.

He was tired… so, so very tired. The full moon was a mere two days away, and he could feel it in every muscle fiber, every beat of his pulse, every gulp of air he took into his lungs. His sense of smell was much sharper and his eyesight more keen in the past week since he began taking the potion Hermione had made him; he desperately hoped that she was as good of a potion-brewer as she claimed to be, for both of their sakes. He had also been charming the inside of his closet over the past few days to make it larger, and reinforcing it with all sorts of spells and enchantments to help contain him if the potion should fail. It was the size of a small attic now, and he was admittedly rather proud of it.

He felt a familiar pang of loneliness as his thoughts turned to his deceased father. The glimpses he had seen from Hermione's memory played over and over in his head, from the two of them sitting at a kitchen table eating porridge together, to the night he was saved from the Dementor's Kiss. It was cruel how much time she had gotten to spend with him, when he had never even gotten to meet the man before he died…

Suddenly, Leo supported himself on his arms and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting to his feet. He wrenched the bedroom door open and crossed the hallway, entering the bathroom and turning the knob on the sink without bothering with the light. He let it run for a few moments, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

_I can't keep cutting myself off from everything_.

He had to push forward and stop with his self-destructive way of living. Leo splashed his face with water and turned the knob with a creak to shut the faucet off. His bare feet hardly made a sound on the floorboards as he shuffled down the corridor, pausing at the mouth of it to look at Hermione's dark silhouette against the streetlight outside. She was sitting up, facing him.

"What do you want?" she said apprehensively.

Leo remained silent, turning towards the window and slowly making his way to the front of the room. His hands were stuffed in his fleece pockets.

"I want you to tell me how my father died."

* * *

Hermione was more or less shocked, and she didn't bother trying to hide it. "Excuse me? You _what?_"

He still wouldn't look at her.

Enraged, she threw the quilts off of her and jumped to her feet, supporting herself with the arm of the sofa. "I can't _stand_ you! Honestly! I can't stand your bloody mood swings! I realize it's your… your… time of the month –"

He whipped around to face her, jaw set. "Yeah, you're bloody _right_ it's my time of the month, and it's a hell of a lot more of an ordeal than yours, so you can shut your trap and do this one thing for me. I'm trying here, I really am –"

"Trying? Trying to what, make me go mad?"

"Just TELL me, okay? I have the right to know what happened to my father! I _need_ to know!"

Hermione sighed, slowly lowering herself back to sofa as Leo pulled the blinds to let moonlight into the room. After a long moment, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

He sat on the windowsill, his head turned in her general direction. Hermione couldn't make out the features on his face, and was glad of it; watching him watch her would have just made the whole situation that much more unnerving.

"Everything."

Hermione ran her hands through her hair, attempting to get her wits about her. "It was last school year when Harry learned of a prophecy concerning Voldemort and him. Of course, the Hall of Prophecy only allows those who have been prophesized about to take theirs from the shelf, and Voldemort couldn't just waltz into the Ministry and take it himself."

"At the same time, he knew about the secret society that Dumbledore was in charge of, the Order of the Phoenix…" she hesitated, wondering how much she should reveal to someone who had been associated with Voldemort himself. She supposed as long as she took care not to say anything about current affairs involving the Order, it would be alright; this was old news anyway. "Harry's parents had belonged to it, which was why they were marked for death in the first place. Other members of the Order had been guarding the prophecy all year upon the realization that Voldemort was trying to take it. After his escape from Azkaban and Hogwarts, Sirius was able to become an active member again."

"My father was a member of the secret society working against…. the Dark Lord?"

Hermione noted the way he addressed Voldemort with a bit of apprehension. "Yes."

Leo snorted. "Ironic, that is."

She waited several seconds, but he didn't continue. Then she prodded. "Is it ironic… because you were a Death Eater, Leo?"

Leo's silhouette stiffened. "Why would you say that?"

Hermione folded her arms. "Why don't _you_ tell _me_?"

"I am _not_, nor have I _ever been_, a Death Eater."

"But you served under Voldemort," she said before she could stop herself.

"Has this become an interrogation?"

"Maybe. I'll give you information about your father's death… in exchange for answers about you."

"I don't really think you're in the position to make demands, _Hermione Granger_."

"I'm in the position to do whatever I like, _Leo Black_. I'm done playing the role of helpless victim. I'm finished keeping my mouth shut and deferring to you. I'm THROUGH!"

He scoffed, pausing for a moment to consider her. As her eyes finished adjusting to the light, she thought she could detect the shape of a smile in his facial features. "Fine then... We'll play your little game."

"Good. Answer my question then."

"No, you finish what you were telling me first."

"Not until you answer my question!"

"_Fine." _Leo's voice was low and mischievous. He stood from his perch on the windowsill and stepped towards Hermione slowly, kneeling in front of the couch. His face was inches from hers; she could feel his breath on her cheek. "I served under the Dark Lord."

Hermione's heart jumped into her throat and her pulse was rushing in her ears, but she struggled to maintain her composure.

"You really are the brains of Potter's operation, aren't you, Hermione? How did you figure that one out?

She gulped. "You were muttering… in your sleep, you said… you… Listen, how do you expect me to want to tell you anything now? How do I know you're just not going to run back to –"

"I take back what I said about your brains," he interrupted. "Hermione, no one just 'stops' being Voldemort's follower. Nobody just deserts him the way I did… You'd come to a gruesome end before you even had the mind to think about it."

"Exactly my point. How on Merlin's green Earth am I supposed to trust you?"

"Because," he sighed, getting back to his feet, "I'm already dead. And if I wasn't dead, I'd be marked for death." He paused to let that sink in, pacing in front of the sofa.

Hermione contemplated the confusing statement for a moment before letting her mind wander back to their encounter in the apothecary. "The evening we met… you said '_I'm not supposed to exist'…. _Of course!"

She frowned. "But how did you… why did…. what happened to you?"

His face suddenly became stony, and that was the end of that. "My turn to ask the question," he cut in, ignoring her last inquiry. "Finish your story."

"That's not really a question," she grumbled, but it was hard for her to feign annoyance when she was actually as giddy as a child on Christmas morning, having started to piece together the enigma that was Leo.

Leo rolled his eyes. "Just get on with it."

"Right, well… where was I? Sirius was an active member again. During the school year, Dumbledore realized that the mental connection between Harry and Voldemort was getting stronger, so he tried teaching him Occlumency to keep Voldemort out of his mind. But it didn't work, and once Voldemort found out how to harness that connection, he planted a vision in Harry's head of Sirius being held captive in the Hall of Prophecy. Seeing as Sirius was Harry's only living family, Harry immediately went to his rescue."

Leo frowned at the mention of Harry's relation to Sirius, but said nothing.

"Several of us rushed with Harry to the Ministry of Magic, but when we got there, there was a group of Death Eaters waiting for us. It had all been a trick to get Harry to retrieve the prophecy Voldemort was looking for, and we fought them in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius and some of the Order showed up after a bit, and well… we were fighting in the Death Chamber…"

She didn't even realize she was wringing her hands together as spoke. Memories that she had tried all summer to suppress were now beginning to resurface, and she was finding it extremely difficult to locate the right words as hot tears blurred Leo's still form in front of her. So instead of trying to be tactful about it, she just let the words come.

"… and, well there was this archway, and I knew it was dangerous and there was just this awful vibe about it, and Harry kept on calling it a veil or something but I couldn't see the veil part because I guess it's one of those things, like thestrals, where you can only see it if you've seen death, and I think the veil must've been spirits or some manifestation of the barrier between life and death because when Bellatrix hit him with a curse he fell right through it and he… he was just… gone."

Leo watched Hermione cry on the sofa with mixed feelings. He wasn't sure what to make of the fact that she was so moved by talking about Sirius's death… he felt like _he_ should be the one upset. _She_ wasn't Sirius's own flesh and blood…. _she_ wasn't his only living child… she wasn't_ anything_ to him.

"It's so bloody unfair," he spat, suddenly enraged.

"It's not, Leo," she whimpered softly, catching him off guard. "It's not fair at all." Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and wiped her frozen tears. Her fingers were numb, but she didn't care.

"He never even tried to contact me… never even tried to see me… not even when he got out of Azkaban. Not once. He probably was a better father to bloody –" he kicked the armchair, "hero –" scuffed the floorboards, "Potter."

Hermione said nothing.

"Didn't even leave me anything when he died."

This revelation caught her by surprise. "Are you sure about that?" she asked, raising her head to look Leo in the face. "He had a will, he left Harry his…" Uh oh.

"_Harry_? He left _HARRY_ what, exactly? What on earth did he possibly have to give his _godson_ that would take precedence over his _REAL_ son?"

She gulped.

"_Answer me!"_

"His… erm… his house… and his house-elf… and, well, everything really."

Leo was fuming, and understandably so. "Harry fucking Potter…"

"It's not Harry's fault," she said, trying to defend her friend. "for Merlin's sake, don't blame him for not knowing you existed."

"I want you to take me there," he said suddenly.

"What? What do you…"

"Take me there! Take me to my dad's house."

"Leo, I don't –"

"Take me," he hissed, grabbing the front of her shirt and pulling her to her feet. Their faces were inches away again, and Hermione's stomach did a somersault. "Take me to my house. _MY_ house. Right. Now."

* * *

AN: I love your feedback, please don't be shy! :)


	10. The Wand, the Witch, and the House Elf

"Leo, I'm afraid I can't do that."

Leo clenched his fist tighter around the cloth of Hermione's shirt. For a brief moment, she considered tattling on him to Nadine if he ripped it. "You can, and you will."

"No, I mean… I can't. I physically can't, you see… um… this would actually be much easier to explain if you'd put me down first."

Hermione thought she heard a low growl in the back of his throat, but he let go of her shirt anyway and folded his arms across his chest, giving her a calculating look.

"Sirius's house was made Unplottable by a Fidelius Charm, and I'm magically bound by the Secret-Keeper, in this case, Dumbledore himself, not to reveal its location to anyone. Only _he _can do that," she said in a matter-of-fact voice that would've made Harry and Ron groan.

"I _know_ what Unplottability is." Leo sounded like a petulant ten-year-old.

"Then you understand my predicament!"

"Naturally," he drawled. "But wouldn't you expect that there'd be some sort of loophole if the house was legally mine?"

"But it's not, Leo. Sirius left the estate to Harry. And if you're believed to be dead, as you say you are, there's no way you _could_ be the legal owner of it."

Leo pouted for a long moment. Hermione shifted her weight to her left hip, fidgeting in the awkward silence. Suddenly, he lit up. "Perhaps not the house…"

His expression made Hermione squirm. "What do you mean?"

Leo started pacing again. "Wizards' Wills rarely have authority over the ownership of house-elves… that's an entirely different sort of magic. You said that Sirius had one, didn't you?"

"I might have…" Oh, Merlin, they were in trouble. She knew where he was going with this.

"As the next living Black in the bloodline, I _should_ be his true master. What's the little bugger's name?" His eyes were dancing, something Hermione had never witnessed before. It made her uncomfortable. She decided she preferred him better when he was pouting.

She sighed inwardly and rubbed her temples, wracking her brains for any sort of clue as to how she should respond. As risky as it was, Kreacher might just be the link she needed to get her arse out of this dismal place. Perhaps it would do her well to play along.

And yet, she hesitated. There was a time when she had crawled about the flat, searching for even the tiniest cracks in the walls and the floor that could serve as a means of escape. As November pushed forward, however, she had more time to objectively consider the situation; she found herself making less of an effort to get away, and more of an effort to wrap her head around everything Leo was. It was inevitable, really, as they both had something that the other wanted: Hermione was the only link to a father Leo never knew, and Leo… well, he was a mystery Hermione had yet to solve, and had far too much potential to help the Order for her to just leave him to his own devices.

She knew that gaining Leo's trust was the most important part of her plan, and if that meant showing him that she wouldn't try and leave him, then so be it. As much as she wanted to go home, she had an obligation to the Order to find out everything of value he knew. She just hoped they weren't wasting too much precious time searching for her, when they needn't worry. Perhaps she could get some sort of a message to them if Kreacher was able to get them into Grimmauld Place.

Hermione took a deep breath in and then out to calm herself. "Kreacher. His name is Kreacher."

"Excellent," Leo said, and spoke his name.

The two of them stood there in the moonlight for a few tense moments. Hermione thought her heartbeat was loud enough that the neighbors could hear it pounding. A vein in Leo's temple throbbed. They waited.

Then…

POP!

* * *

"No, no, it's all wrong for you, dear… here, try this."

Ginny Weasley stepped down from a stool in Madam Malkin's, smoothing the full skirt of the robes she was trying on and turning to assess her backside in the mirror with a wrinkled nose. "Ugh, you're right. I look positively dreadful in this colour."

"You look like a cupcake that belongs in Madame Puddifoot's," Lavender Brown sniggered from her left, as she shimmied out of her own set of robes, which were silky and blood-red with golden filigree stitching. "And after all, it'll ruin the mystery of the Masquerade if you stick out like a sore thumb."

Ginny sighed wearily as Madame Malkin pulled the pink sequined dress over her head and handed her another set of robes, this time a powder blue with tiny pearls sewn into the bust line. "This one might be a little out of my price range," she whispered to the older witch, who nodded with understanding and disappeared again behind a curtain that led to some sort of back room.

It's safe to say that Ginny hated shopping, and she hated it even more when she did it with Lavender, who felt quite the opposite about it. She missed Hermione… at least their mutual dislike of the activity made it somewhat more bearable.

The weeks that had passed since Hermione's disappearance had been long, dreadful ones for her, her boyfriend and her brother, and it was preposterous that they had been instructed to hide their grief and act like nothing was wrong. Every other student thought that she was on leave for family reasons, and if the wrong people (mainly the Malfoys and other wizarding families with close ties to Voldemort) caught wind of what was really going on, then there would be loads more trouble, according to Dumbledore. So, for Hermione's sake, they internalized their pain and all kept their mouths shut regarding her affairs.

It wasn't easy, especially when Ginny would burst into tears at the most inopportune times, or when Harry singlehandedly lost Gryffindor the last two Quidditch matches, or when Ron would mope in Potions and neglect his concoctions until they decided to violently explode (although to anyone else, this didn't seem out of the ordinary). Dumbledore had insisted adamantly, multiple times, that her kidnapping wasn't Voldemort's doing, but Ginny hardly knew if that made her feel better or worse.

So when Adrian and Audra Vine, a pair of 4th-year Ravenclaw twins who had recently transferred to Hogwarts from a private academy in Australia, announced that their parents were going to be holding a New Years' masquerade (exclusively for pure-blooded and prominent wizarding families), the three were extremely grateful that Hermione no longer seemed to be an important aspect of the gossip ring.

They were also incredibly surprised to receive owls informing them that they had been invited.

"Thought our lot were a bunch of blood-traitors," Ron had remarked scornfully over his toast and eggs that morning, tossing the envelope aside and scanning today's edition of the _Prophet_.

"My mum was Muggle-born, too," Harry had said skeptically, peering closer at the red calligraphy on his invitation. "Although maybe I fall into that 'prominent families' bit."

Ron had muttered something incoherent in response, toast crumbs falling from his mouth as Ginny scolded him for his lack of manners. "It's easy to forget that us Weasleys are pure-bloods sometimes," she said with an edge of anger to her voice. "But apparently the Vines don't care too much about the stigma attached to our name, which is nice for a change." _Or we'll be easier to hide since we'll all be donning masks, _she thought grimly.

"You don't mean you _actually_ want to go, do you?" Ron at least had the mind to swallow his toast before gaping at his younger sister.

"Oh, come off your high horse, Ronald! We can't just sit around and mope forever." Ginny lowered her voice a bit. "Hermione would want us to live a little, don't you think?"

"She's not _dead_ for goodness sake!" Harry slammed his pumpkin juice down on the table, startling some first-years sitting nearby. "_Hermione_," he hissed, "would want us out there, doing everything we could to find her… not gamboling around at some fancy party. How can you even _consider_ that when our best friend is missing?" With that, he had grabbed his things and stormed from the room, leaving a bewildered Ginny and Ron in his wake.

"I just wish we could convince him that there's nothing we can do that we haven't already done," Ron said, suddenly very interested in his fork. "He already tried to set that bloody house-elf on the lookout for her. Dumbledore's keeping too close of an eye on us for us to really accomplish anything else. It's infuriating, having him breathing down our necks."

"I know," Ginny said mournfully. "I wish Harry wouldn't blame himself so much for it, either. He's really taking this hard, regardless of the fact that Dumbledore seems to believe that Voldemort _didn't_ have a hand in the kidnapping. He's got to have a legitimate reason for believing that."

"I'm more than just skeptical, myself. Who else besides You-Know-Who would have anything to gain by taking her?" Ron had sighed gloomily, his face falling into his hands.

* * *

Hermione shrieked, grabbing Leo's arm without thinking and digging her nails into his flesh as a small shadow hurled through the air and landed on the floorboards in a heap. Leo grimaced, throwing her off of him, and rushed to tug the string connected to the lamp in the corner. Light flooded the room and Hermione decided it wasn't worth it to ask him why he didn't just use _Lumos_. She avoided his eyes in short-lived embarrassment and instead focused on the groaning green lump in the corner that was now getting to its feet.

"Kreacher just minds his own business, yes, Kreacher just does what he's told, and then _this_ is how he is rewarded, yanked from bed in the middle of night to…" He trailed off as he turned to face the two others in the room, rubbing his head and staring with wide eyes.

Hermione's eyes were just as wide as the house-elf's. Deep down, she had known it would work, but physically seeing him in front of her was an entirely different thing. His gaze focused on her.

"The Mudblood that Harry Potter so _eagerly_ asks Kreacher to be finding, can it be? But that filth could not have the power to be calling Kreacher, not at all, not with her dirty Muggle blood–"

"Hush! That's enough out of you," Leo snapped, advancing towards the huddled green elf. "She's not yours to insult, only I can do that."

"I suppose I should've warned you about him." Hermione bit back a snort at Leo's backhanded compliment, fighting the blush that was threatening to rise to her cheeks.

Kreacher opened his mouth to protest but found that no sound came out. Horrified, he clutched at his throat until his eyes found the signet ring hanging around Leo's exposed neck. He pointed, crying out silently, and then immediately threw himself to the floor in a violent tantrum. She was instantly at his side.

"Stop him, stop it!" she yelled, trying to wrench the creature's thrashing body away from the coffee table, as he was now fervently banging his tiny bald head upon it. "Please! Order him to stop!"

Leo, amused at her concern for the elf that had colourfully insulted her not moments before, said calmly, "Kreacher, you're not to hurt yourself."

Kreacher glared daggers as Leo but drew his head away from the surface of the small table. Hermione quickly noticed that there were tears welling in his eyes as he plopped his rump down onto the floor, and she asked Leo to let him speak.

"None of my late masters be having any children," he wheezed, rocking back and forth while clutching his ankles. "Not a one. And yet there he stands…"

Leo eyed the elf warily. "Kreacher, my name is Leo, and I'm Sirius's son."

Kreacher's eyes widened even more and he began rocking faster. "And he is the filthy bastard of my _poor_ Mistress' unworthy son, he is! Oh, how disgraced she would be to know… how humiliated…"

Leo was becoming annoyed, Hermione could tell. His jaw was set and a vein near his temple was becoming more defined as Kreacher kept ranting and clutching his ankles.

"Kreacher always wondered why he was not compelled to do the young Potter's bidding, but he did it still, because Kreacher feared that he was free at last… but now Kreacher is _still _bound to blood-traitor scum, and he does not yet know which he prefers."

"Is he always so rude?" Leo asked Hermione, folding his arms.

"He's been worse," she commented wistfully. "Your father often claimed he'd gone 'round the bend as well, but I think all he _really_ needs is some old-fashioned nurturing." She was silently enjoying the fact that the tiny elf was getting such a rise out of the werewolf. Hermione knelt down so he could be at eye level with him, adjusting her ankle. "Kreacher, we need you to do something for us."

"Kreacher does not answer to the likes of Mudblood filth, in particular ones who are meddling with the freedom of his kind," he said scornfully, finally getting to his feet and dusting off his rags with his spindly fingers.

Leo stiffened at first, managing to look quite threatening. "You'll behave yourself, and answer to her as you would answer to me." But after Kreacher's words had a moment to sink in, he chanced a quizzical look at Hermione. "What's that he said? What did he mean, 'meddling with the freedom of his kind?'"

Her face grew hot and she played with the hem of her nightshirt, trying to hide her blush while seeming nonchalant. "It's nothing, really. He just says odd things, he was cooped up in that old house alone for so long."

Leo snorted. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"It's not a lie! He _does_ say very odd things." When he looked down his nose at her, she squirmed. "_My apologies_ for not being as experienced in deceiving people as you are, then!"

"You do realize you just admitted it."

Well, he had her there. But she stuck her nose defiantly in the air. She had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. All she did was advocate for the welfare of house-elves. "I formed a group several years ago called the 'Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.' It was quite popular among the students," she embellished proudly, figuring that what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "We basically petitioned for the freedom of house-elves and to improve their working conditions. I think it's simply awful that they don't have wages or even _holidays –" _

She was cut off by a sort of choking sound coming from Leo, and quickly realized that he was trying desperately to hold back laughter. "You did _what_?"

Hermione clenched her fists, the redness in her face now more due to anger than to embarrassment as she gave him a stubborn glare. "Don't you laugh, Leo Black, it was quite successful!"

"Was it, now?" Leo sniggered. "You can't be serious, Hermione, elves don't want to be _free_! You even heard Kreacher just now! He said the only reason he kept doing what Potter said was because he was afraid of his freedom! And he _loathes_ the boy!"

Kreacher gave Leo an appraising look. "My unworthy Master speaks the truth, scum though his father may have been –"

"You hush up about my dad! I don't want to hear you bad-mouthing him." Leo tried to sound dignified but it was difficult when he was clutching his sides with laughter. "Oh Hermione, I can't believe… actually, maybe I can…"

Trying desperately to change the subject and take the focus of the conversation off of her, she stood up taller and said, "Laugh all you want at me, but that won't get you any closer to Grimmauld Place. We brought Kreacher here for a _reason_, remember?"

Leo wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, but a stupid grin was still etched on his face. Hermione hoped it stayed that way; he actually looked quite pleasant.

"Now, Kreacher," she said in a voice that reminded Leo of the way you might scold a puppy, "I need you to tell me if the Order still uses Grimmauld Place as their Headquarters."

He nodded begrudgingly. "Wizards come and go as they please, making a ruckus so Kreacher cannot sleep and must leave his cupboard and retire to the attic."

She saw Leo's brows knit together in her peripheral vision. "Were they there when Leo called you?"

The elf thought for a moment. "No," he said finally. "They have not been imposing on my Mistress's home for several days now."

She caught Leo's eye but continued addressing the house-elf. "And your magic can bypass the Fidelius Charm that Dumbledore put on it?"

"How _else_ would I be getting here?" he said dryly.

"Leo," Hermione said, using the table to get to her feet, "Could you cover us both with a Disillusionment charm that would hold through Apparition? We could have Kreacher take us to the attic where he sleeps, and from there, make our way to the lower floors. We don't want to take the chance of running into anyone." _At least, you don't, _she thought.

"Erm…" Leo fidgeted slightly and coughed.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. It was plainly visible on his face that he seemed to be having some sort of an internal conflict. Finally, he spoke, looking strained. "This may surprise you, but I never actually learned how to do a decent Disillusionment Charm. I never needed it. I… erm… came into the possession of a Demiguise invisibility cloak awhile back and used that all the time. Unfortunately it was rather old, and its properties had already begun to wear off. I had to toss it after several years."

She couldn't help the incredulous look on her face. "You can't be serious, can you? Disillusionment charms… they're _third-year_ stuff! Granted, they take a bit of time to master, but _I_ was able to –"

"I'm sure you were," he cut her off, struggling to make his face a hard mask once more. "Now if you're done patronising me, perhaps we should figure out another plan of action, Miss Know-it-all?"

They regarded each other for a moment. "Well," she said slowly, sending out a silent prayer, "you could always let _me_ do it."

Leo snorted. "And how do I know that you just won't Apparate away as soon as I give you your wand? Or Disarm me and make a run for it?"

"It would take me ages to remove the spells around your flat," she said, dismayed. "They're rather complicated and I haven't the foggiest what some of them even are. It's terribly Dark magic that you've used. I'm also assuming you've put anti-Apparition wards about, as well?" He nodded. "Well, if I can't Apparate from here, and I can't Apparate from inside Grimmauld Place, that leaves me stuck, doesn't it? And you must be a fair hand at dueling, yourself, so I really have no desire to fight you, especially with my ankle in its current condition."

He thought about her proposal for a long moment, and then, to Hermione's utter shock, nodded his head. Hermione let out a breath she wasn't even aware she had been holding. Wait…what had just happened? He _agreed?_

Leo disappeared down the corridor leading to his room, and emerged several minutes later with her wand in hand. She couldn't believe it! _She was getting her wand back!_

She reached for it eagerly, forgetting herself, and he pulled it away from her, making a clicking sound with his tongue. "My senses are much keener than yours, thanks to the full moon being so near. I'll be able to sense things that normal humans can't… like your nerves, the tiniest muscle twitches… If I catch even a whiff of any funny business, you'll be sorry." His irises briefly flashed yellow, and she gulped. He wasn't joking.

She tore her eyes away from his as he placed the smooth, wooden stick in her hand. It felt foreign for a brief moment as she tested the weight and rolled it in her fingers, but the moment ended in a shower of lilac sparks that spilled from the tip and danced around her. She felt overcome with giddiness as she watched them swirl and pop, thinking back to the first time Ollivander had showed her how it should be held. It knew, just as well as she did, that this was home.

She grinned at Leo, whose expression was unreadable. "Let's get out of here, shall we?"

* * *

AN: Some people have been wondering how Hermione was able to discuss the location of Grimmauld place with Kreacher. My logic in that was the assumption that since the house-elf was bound to the house and the family that owned it, he was grandfathered in to the enchantment that allowed him to know where it was and how to get there. Since both he and Hermione had knowledge bestowed upon them by the secret-keeper, the magic allowed them to discuss it with eachother, regardless of the fact that it was in front of Leo. The house-elf's magic was able to bypass the original enchantment that disallowed anyone not explicitly told by the secret-keeper to enter the house, since it was mentioned clearly in the seventh book that the magic of house-elfs is far older and sometimes stronger than that of wizards, but nobody has ever really thought to consider it, as the Malfoys didn't when Dobby could Apparate in and out of their dungeon.


	11. Family Ties, part I

**Things start picking up in these next few chapters, so be ready! This is a big chapter with a lot going on... so much, that I had to split it into two parts. The second part will be coming soon. Thanks so much beaweasley2 for your awesome betaing :)**

**Made-up spells are my own, and I apologize for my lack of knowledge about latin.**

* * *

Leo fell through darkness, the familiar sensation of compression on all sides squeezing the air from his lungs. His pulse filled his ears and he tried to fight what felt like invisible hands gripping his throat, but Hermione dug her nails into his arm to keep him from twisting away as they burst forth into a small, dusty room. He tripped over something large and fell flat on his back, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of him. Another form tumbled over him with a small shriek, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out as Hermione's knee came dangerously close to his groin. She wriggled a little as she tried to hoist herself to her knees, but her ankle collapsed under her and she found contact with Leo's hard chest once more.

Leo coughed as the dust they had kicked up whirled around their heads, and they lay there stunned for a moment before he realized that Hermione's soft, warm body was still entangled with his. They were cloaked with her Disillusionment Charm, and he only became aware of how close their faces were when her breath tickled his cheek.

A tiny, deliberate cough from their left brought him back to reality, and he bolted upright as Hermione crawled off of him and fumbled with her wand. "_Lumos_."

Kreacher stood with his arms crossed, eying the empty space where the two of them presumably were. "If Master is done, you may exit through there," he said, pointing a long finger to a square on the floor that was outlined in dim lamplight from the corridor below. "And if Master presently has no more need for Kreacher, he would like to be getting back to his sleep."

"Sure," Leo said absentmindedly, brushing more dust from his clothes and trying to shake off that unfamiliar feeling from having Hermione so close to him. He decided to attribute it to the impending full moon, and refused to give it any more thought. "I'll go first, I suppose." He supported himself on the trunk they had stumbled over and got to his feet, but as he straightened, his head cracked against a hard surface and pain shot through him.

"Fuck!" he hissed, rubbing the crown of his head. The attic was obviously not built to accommodate someone who was 6'3, and he had to double over to keep from hitting his head again on the rafters as he advanced towards the square on the floor. Leo ignored the giggle that Hermione was trying to suppress, reached for the thick iron handle, and pulled. The trapdoor was surprisingly heavy, and he was glad she couldn't see the strain on his face as he lifted it.

He poked his head out, and upon seeing that the corridor was empty, hoisted himself into the hole and jumped to the floor with all the grace of a cat. It was a short, narrow passage, framed with peeling wallpaper and a lonely, dusty wall sconce, which had already flickered to life upon sensing their presence. "Coast is clear," he murmured just loud enough so Hermione could hear it.

"Um…"

"What?"

"Leo… I, um… my ankle."

Oh, _that_. Bugger. "I suppose you could… oh, just jump, I'll catch you," he sighed, hardly believing the words that came from his own mouth. He did need her in one piece, after all, and he was anxious to get to the rest of the house.

"I can't even see you! How will I know where to jump?" she said, a nervous quiver in her voice.

He was beginning to get exasperated. "Just bloody _jump_, okay? Trust me." He held his arms wide below the trapdoor's opening, figuring she'd land on some part of him, anyhow.

"But I –"

"On the count of three…"

"Oh, bother."

"One, two, three!"

Something made contact with his outstretched arms and he swept her up as she heaved a sigh of relief. Again, that odd feeling nagged at him, but he shoved it from his mind as he hastened to set her down on the ancient carpet runner. He ignored her mumbled "thanks," already striding to the landing in front of them and descending the stairway, bound and determined to put as much space between Hermione and himself as possible.

"Wait!" she hissed, and he stiffened, pausing on the second step. "_Hominem Revelio." _Nothing happened. "Leo," Hermione ventured, "I think it's safe to lift the Disillusionment Charm. There's nobody here but us."

Leo nodded, then, remembering she couldn't see him, muttered, "_Finite."_ He heard her do the same, limping behind him as he descended.

The stairwell was narrow and the steps wound tightly downwards, leveling at a second landing that connected to another corridor like the first. Sconces roared to life as Leo approached, noting with interest that these had been dusted very recently. Two doors led off of the corridor, one on either side. The first bore a neat little sign, though slightly faded, which read:

_Do Not Enter_

_Without the Express Permission of_

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

His fingers itched in excitement. Leo knew, from his research, that this would have been his uncle Regulus, who deserted the Death Eaters around the time Leo was born, and was never found alive again.

His stomach clenched as he suddenly realized what must be behind the second door. Slowly pivoting in his boots, his eyes found the second sign, which said only _Sirius._

It took every ounce of his strength to lift one heavy foot from the floor and place it in front of the other. His mouth was dry; he tried to swallow, feeling as though his tongue was made of sandpaper. His heart jumped in his throat, pulse rushing in his ears when his fingers brushed the doorknob. Everything he was feeling was only amplified by the nearness of the full moon; it was also because of this that he could pick up the sound of Hermione shuffling quietly backwards from the mouth of the corridor, slowly and gently easing down the stairs to give him his privacy. He wished she could feel the waves of gratitude radiating from him, because he would never give her the satisfaction of a personal "thank you."

He turned the knob and pulled.

* * *

Hermione backed down the stairs, tearing her eyes away from Leo as he opened the door to Sirius's old room. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't anxious to get a look around there herself, but it felt like way too intimate of a moment for her to interrupt… and lately she was becoming less fond of 'intimate' moments with her kidnapper. What happened in the attic and the corridor below it were… unsettling, to say the least.

Unsettling, meaning 'enough to make her heart start racing for no good reason at all.'

She approached the next landing, recognizing the room that Harry and Ron had slept in during their previous stays here. _Why not, _she thought. _Leo will probably be awhile. _She took a breath and pushed the door open.

It was just as she remembered it, down to the moth-eaten curtains and ancient wallpaper, which Harry and Ron had taken upon themselves to try and remove; their lack of success was evident by the long, curling strips that made up the surface of the wall which held the door. Hermione grinned, remembering the endeavor, and then felt a small pang along with it. She tried to forget how much she missed her best friends as she moved over to a tall bookcase, floor creaking underneath her. She drew her finger slowly along the row of weathered old spines, savoring the feel of leather as she read each title.

_Famous Famines of the Fifth Century… A Purebred Wizarding Genealogy… __101 Uses of the Unicorn in Magic and Potions__. _Hermione shivered at the last one, remembering her experience involving unicorns in the Forbidden Forest during their first year.

"Why hello, Miss Granger. I daresay it's been too long," came a sarcastic drawl from behind her.

She jumped, biting back a scream and whirling around to face the source of the voice. Her eyes widened; she could have kicked herself for being so forgetful! "P-P-Phineas?"

The bearded, turbaned man in the portrait on the wall opposite the bookcase gave her a dry smile. "I'm so touched that you remembered me. Word has it you'd been off on your own little adventure… There are a great deal of people that are worried about you, you know."

She huffed. "You sound terribly concerned."

Phineas shrugged. "What reason do I have to be concerned? I had enough issues when I was alive; I prefer to remain a spectator during these sorts of things. And you're standing in front of me, clearly alive and well." He leaned forward in his chair. "My question, however, is this: why allow your friends to go on believing you're missing?"

"Actually," she said, stilling a slight tremble in her voice, "that's rather complicated. You see, nobody would believe me if I told them who I've…" she trailed off. A little voice inside her head whispered that mentioning Leo was probably not the wisest idea just yet. _You are trying to build trust there,_ she reminded herself. "That's not important right now." She shook her head. "I can't tell you how I came to be here, but I can tell you that I'm safe… at least, for the time being."

A thud came from the floor above, and she jumped, panicking a little. She had no idea what Leo would do if he found her talking to Phineas. "Look, I can't talk for long, but I need you to do something for me."

He shifted in his chair and sniffed haughtily. "I love being reduced to a messenger. If I had known that's all I'd be doing now, I would have never had this thing painted."

"Phineas, please?" she pleaded, glancing at the door. "I need you to go to your portrait at Hogwarts and tell Dumbledore what I told you. Tell him I'm safe, but I can't try and escape just yet. He shouldn't come looking for me; it'll only complicate things right now, because… because this is a very delicate situation. And tell him…" a lump formed in her throat, and she fought tears. "Tell him to tell Harry, Ron, and everyone that I miss them… can you do that for me?"

Phineas sighed, getting up. "Alright," he conceded, "but only because I'm so sick of hearing about this back at Hogwarts. That's the only reason why I'm in this dreary place, anyway. I had the most awful time sleeping there." He gave her a small bow. "I'm glad I'm not you, Hermione." And with that, he turned and walked away from her until he disappeared from sight.

* * *

Harry sat in the moonlight on a stone bench in the Owlry, stroking Hedwig and looking out across the glassy surface of the Black Lake. He pulled his scarf tighter around his wind-chapped cheeks and ears, remembering the time when he soared across the same vista on Buckbeak three years prior. He also managed to grin in spite of himself at the image of the enormous Hippogriff rearing back and knocking a spluttering Malfoy into the dirt.

Too many weeks had passed since Hermione's disappearance. Idleness was not something Harry did well, especially when his friends were in danger; his patience with Dumbledore and the Order was wearing thin. He was sick of inconclusive reports from the headmaster, he was sick of everyone's reassurances that Hermione wasn't taken prisoner by Voldemort, and he was _especially_ sick of sitting around, waiting for her to appear, like it seemed everyone else was doing. He sighed and smoothed the crumpled parchment that he'd been holding captive in his gloved fingers. It seemed like Lupin was the only person he could trust to give him information that wasn't sugar-coated.

_Harry,_

_We're pursuing several leads, but I really can't tell you much more than what Professor Dumbledore has explained. I understand this is difficult for you to take sitting down… you remind me so much of James in that way. _

_You asked me if I believed her kidnapping could've been the work of Death Eaters, and my answer to you is that it's just as likely as any other lead we currently have, but Professor Dumbledore was being honest when he said we have reason to believe that this wasn't Voldemort's work. We both know that any Death Eater would have presented her to him__ as soon as they had her, if only to gain Voldemort's favor__; however, there is a slim chance that they might have tried to get information from her first. __But it's been so long now, I seriously doubt that's the case._

_I know it's not in your nature to just sit idly and let things play out, but we don't want to rush into anything prematurely. This is very delicate. However, I won't necessarily deter you from trying to find out a few things of your own._

_Moony_

Harry grinned at Lupin's ending quip. He folded the letter and stuffed it in his pocket, gave Hedwig one last pat, and got to his feet. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing as he took his invisibility cloak off the bench, but he knew that he sure as hell wasn't going to sit around any longer. With a renewed sense of purpose, he stepped over owl droppings as he crossed the threshold and pulled out the Marauder's Map, tapping it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered as he pulled the cloak over him and descended the stone staircase to the rest of the castle. Sweeping the map, he spotted Filch patrolling by the library and Professor Dumbledore pacing in his study; he eyes roamed to the kitchens and the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room. He grinned. Crabbe and Goyle's names appeared, their footprints leading sluggishly away from the painting of the pear that was the entrance to the kitchens. No doubt they had been grabbing a late-night snack.

He picked up his pace, eyes trained on the map as his own footprints neared those of Crabbe and Goyle. When he turned a corner and spotted them at the end of a corridor, he murmured "mischief managed" and shoved the map back into his cloak.

Down into the Dungeons they went, passing the Potions classrooms and the hall where Nearly-Headless Nick's deathday party was held, until they came upon a stone wall that was marked only by an inconspicuous, serpentine wall sconce. "Starthistle," Goyle sputtered, flecks of rhubarb pie flying through the air. He and Crabbe shifted the sweets in their arms and ambled through the passageway, Harry close behind them.

The last time Harry had been in the Slytherin Common Room, it had been during his second year under Polyjuice Potion, when he and Ron were trying to find out from Malfoy who the heir of Slytherin was, and if that person could be the one opening the Chamber of Secrets. Now, as Harry slipped into that stone room bathed in the dark green glow of the moon filtering through the lake, he realized he hadn't a clue what he was actually doing here. He didn't have a plan. He didn't even know what exactly it was that he was looking for. He just had a gut feeling… which, when he really thought about it, wasn't all that comforting.

Crabbe and Goyle settled down on the black leather sofas, dumping their treasure on a nearby table. Harry treaded lightly over to the entrance to the boys' dormitories. He had a feeling the two would keep themselves occupied for a good while.

Harry pointed his wand at the hinges of the large, wooden door and murmured a lubricating spell he'd been taught by opened with ease and he slipped through it, shutting it silently behind him. He was met with barrage of light snores and let out a breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding; at least he could move around in here more easily without being heard.

He padded down the aisle between the rows of four-poster beds, which, instead of sporting the red-and-gold curtains of Gryffindor, had black curtains edged with silver. Some of them were drawn, some were wide open, and still others hummed with defensive spells and alarms that were set to go off when anyone got too near. Harry was grateful for the lessons that he'd had from Mad-Eye towards the end of the summer at the Burrow (Mrs. Weasley didn't have a clue about it, otherwise she surely would've put a stop to them), which taught him how to identify a number of dark defensive spells and additionally how to counter them. He was careful not to trip any alarms now as he advanced down the row, pausing at a bed with the curtains tightly sealed with defensive charms. A trunk at the foot of the bed was made of black dragonhide, with the Malfoy coat-of-arms was engraved on the lid in silver. He wrinkled his nose at the extravagance.

"_Circumspicio_." Harry did a diagnostic of the magic surrounding the four-poster, making quick work of the alarms and leaving the defensive spells, which were more trouble than they were worth to both dissolve and reconstruct later. He didn't care about Malfoy, so long as he didn't trip any alarms; he only cared about his belongings.

Where would Malfoy be keeping information? He'd probably received letters from his father, so he could've stowed them in his trunk… but if they were important enough, and he wanted to have quick access to them, he'd probably keep them close by, in the bedside cabinet. Harry tiptoed over to the drawer, prodding it with his wand and working quietly to negate the spells upon it. By the time he finished, he was sweating and his wand hand was trembling. He had no idea how long he had been down there.

When he was sure he would be granted access without leaving broken spells or any evidence that he'd ever been there, he murmured the same lubricating charm he'd used on the door hinges and slid the drawer open. Disappointment immediately set in. It was nearly empty, save for a leather-bound photo album and some spare parchment. This was such a stupid idea; he didn't even have any reason to suspect Malfoy of any wrongdoing, and he knew Hermione would have pointed that out to him.

Harry was about to abandon the search and put the spells back in place when he paused, looking more closely at the photo album. A young Draco was smiling in the arms of Narcissa Malfoy, whose blonde hair streamed away from her face in a gust of wind. She looked over her shoulder at the camera and smiled, the beginnings of crow's-feet wrinkles becoming more defined around her eyelids, and toddler-Draco playing with a silver pendant she wore around her neck. She looked so… so happy, so carefree. And it was hard to imagine that Draco had ever been that young, what with the way he and Harry had always been such bitter rivals. Harry had just assumed that Draco was born evil, really. Of course that was stupid, he told himself. Even Voldemort had been a baby, once.

His curiosity got the better of him and he slid the photo album from the drawer, cracking it open.

The first photo was another like the photo from the cover, except Draco was frolicking on the lawn in front of what Harry presumed was Malfoy Manor. He trampled through flowerbeds as he chased a white peacock, stubby little fingers reaching for the poor bird's tail feathers. Narcissa knelt on the lawn in a flowing, pastel-blue skirt and blouse, laughing at her son.

The second picture was of a Draco that couldn't be any more than five. He sat in a large office chair that dwarfed him, with his arms folded, and seemed to be struggling to keep a serious look on his face. The desk behind him held stacks of books, parchment, and a very expensive-looking quill and inkwell set. Next to him stood a younger Lucius, whose hand lay on the back of the chair, and looked down at his son with poise and pride. Suddenly, Draco's lips began to quiver and then his face split into a huge grin that revealed two missing front teeth.

The next few pictures were similar, but Draco's good-natured innocence seemed to fade away as he grew older, and there were no more candid shots. Harry felt a little uncomfortable invading Draco's privacy like this, but as he turned the next page, his breath caught in his throat.

Draco was about ten or eleven, standing in his father's study. Another boy, about three inches taller than Draco stood beside him, with his arm around his shoulder. Draco's hands were stuffed in his pockets as he grinned up at the boy, looking slightly disheveled, as if maybe he had just been the victim of a noogie. The taller boy was what had caught Harry's attention, though. He had a familiar air of charm and confidence, dark, unruly curls, piercing blue eyes… and a very, _very_ familiar lopsided grin.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. The resemblance to Sirius was almost nauseating.

Suddenly, the door to the common room opened. Harry jumped, nearly dropping the photo album as he searched for a place to hide, before he remembered that he was invisible. Crabbe and Goyle meandered through the doorway, clutching their bellies and climbing into their respective beds with mumbled goodnights.

Harry didn't dare move until he was certain he heard their snores. He slowly removed the photo from its clear sleeve, careful not to leave any fingerprints on it before he touched it with his wand and mumbled, "_Transcriptum." _As he pulled his wand from the photo, silver threads came off of it and knitted together to form a flat square; when the last thread was in place, the square flashed dimly and the image of Draco and the boy was imprinted upon it. Harry folded the second photo and placed it carefully in his pocket next to Lupin's letter.

Heart pounding, he quickly put the original photo back in the sleeve and then placed the photo album exactly the way he had found it. He reconstructed the wards that had been in place around the bedside cabinet and then the alarms that had surrounded the bed before slipping out of the dormitory, then the common room, as quickly as his feet could carry him.

* * *

Phineas Nigellus walked purposefully down a long, dark corridor towards a rectangle of light in front of him. Voices floated through what appeared to be a window, and as he neared, the headmaster and a stocky wizard whose back was turned came into focus. The wizard was wearing dark trench coat and had a mop of bright orange hair.

"… and as soon as he told me, I jumped in the Floo. A Disillusionment Charm, Albus… We've traced it back to a flat on Rogers and Mabry, and Kingsley's making preparations as we speak –"

"Arthur, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Phineas interrupted, looking down his nose into the room as he situated himself in front of the glassless window.

Arthur Weasley turned and looked up at Phineas' portrait. "This is hardly any of your business," he said, struggling between confusion and disdain. "Albus and I were just-"

"About to call off your search for the Granger girl?" he finished for him. "I have some information that might be of interest to both of you," he said, nodding at Dumbledore as well, "but Hermione has insisted that you not go looking for her. She seemed very distraught."

Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at the portrait, surprise only evident in the sparkle of his blue eyes. Arthur was visibly shocked, his mouth agape as he struggled with what Phineas had just revealed. "_You've spoken to her?_ You've seen Hermione? But how…"

"How, Arthur? I only have one other portrait. She paid me a little visit at my dear great-great-grandson's house."

Dumbledore nodded at Arthur, who rushed to the fireplace, murmured something and threw some Floo powder in the hearth. Green flames erupted and he knelt, sticking his head through them.

As Arthur conferred with someone, Dumbledore stepped closer to the wall that held the portrait and craned his neck upwards, brows knitted together. "Tell me everything, Phineas. Was she alone?"

"She came into my room several minutes ago. She was alone then, but I have reason to believe she wasn't alone in the house. There was a thump from another room, and she seemed to panic, as if she wasn't supposed to be there."

"Did she say who she was with, or where she was being held?"

"No. In fact, she said that we'd never believe it if she said who she was with. The message she told me to relay to you was this: She's safe for the time being, and that if you went looking for her, it would disrupt a very delicate situation."

Dumbledore stared at nothing in particular for a moment, absentmindedly stroking his beard. Arthur pulled his head from the fireplace and stood up, brushing the soot from his hands and knees. "Kingsley's set Remus to monitor the flat in the meantime. He's called off Dedalus, Tonks, and Alastor."

"Thank you, Arthur." Dumbledore turned back to the portrait, and sighed wearily. "Is that all, Phineas?"

"No, headmaster. She said to tell you all that she _misses_ you." He sniffed dramatically and folded his arms, enjoying the thoroughly perplexed looks on both wizards' faces.


	12. Family Ties, part II

**Bahía Coralina is a fictional island. It means "Coral Bay," if you're curious.**

* * *

Leo tried to put the pieces of his father together in his mind as he looked around at the old room. A faded red-and-gold banner hung proudly over a large bed… it was a banner that bore the emblem of Gryffindor, he realized. His eyes narrowed as he took in the unmoving posters of scantily-clad Muggle women on the walls, and he wondered which house he would have been sorted into, if he'd done what he was supposed to and attended Hogwarts.

The floorboards creaked in protest underneath his favorite, well-worn boots. Sirius had gone to great lengths to reassure the rest of his family where his loyalties lay, and Leo couldn't help but crack a grin at that. Had you asked him before he'd encountered Hermione, he'd have insisted he was Slytherin through and through. It was an interesting turn of events that now he wasn't so sure.

He fondly ran his fingertips along the dusty frames of the pictures on the walls, pausing at each to admire the young, handsome face of his father grinning back at him. After trying unsuccessfully to remove the photos, he took care to make sure each image was permanently burned into his memory. Leo preferred to recall the father he'd never met as the vivacious young man in these photos, instead of the gaunt, weary one in Hermione's memories.

He approached the heavy Gryffindor banner and fingered the tasseled corner of it absentmindedly. Suddenly he jerked backwards, sensing movement in his peripheral vision. Was that… did the lion on the banner just… no… did it just _wink_ at him?

As if in response to his silent question, the lion raised its paw in a kind of salute, and the banner dissolved in a rapid shimmer of gold. Leo had to remember to breathe as he stared at what had just been revealed on the wall behind where the tapestry had hung moments before.

A tiny little handle.

Leo's pulse was rushing in his ears as he climbed onto the comforter of the bed and stepped toward the headboard. The knob on the wall above it didn't appear to belong to any kind of trapdoor, but after a brief hesitation, he wrapped his fingers around it anyway. He jerked again as warmth rushed through his fingertips and gold threads of magic created the outline of a small door around the knob, and he realized what the sensation was…

It was some kind of genetic magic. He had only ever read about it, but it was always characterized by a distinct tingle rapidly weaving down the spine of the person it was intended for. And at that moment, it dawned on him that somehow Sirius had hoped he would end up here. Sirius hadn't simply forgotten about him.

His father had faith in him. And there was a _reason_ why Leo was the only person that was made able to find this door.

It soundlessly opened, and his heart nearly stopped.

On a lone shelf in the cabinet-like space sat a clear glass vial with wisps of silver dancing inside. Next to it lay a shallow, onyx-colored bowl that he instantly knew to be a Pensieve. And next to that, there lay a yellowed square of parchment that simply read:

_Forgive me _

After the initial shock wore off, Leo reached into the cabinet and plucked the vial from the shelf with trembling fingers. He made quick work of the cap and watched as the silvery wisps tumbled into the Pensieve, swirling together to form an image of his father's smiling face.

He drew the bowl out with both hands, knelt on the bedspread, and let himself succumb to the pull of the memories his father had left him.

* * *

White flurries engulfed nearly everything in sight. Leo held his head, disoriented, as he stumbled right through the form of a tall, curly-haired man who was taking off through the snow. There was barely time to do a double take and get his wits about him before the trees obscured Sirius' retreating form.

Leo trudged through snowdrifts in pursuit of his young father. It was odd, seeing the snow all around him without feeling the accompanying winter chill, but he wasn't about to complain. As they approached a storefront, another boy about Sirius's age emerged from the corner of Leo's eye and bounded towards Sirius, yelling. "Oi! There you are. Trying to ditch me, are you?"

Sirius turned as the boy… er, man, neared and clapped him on back of the head with a snowball. He jumped just out of reach as Sirius swiped back at him, saying, "Don't make me hex you, James! Or better yet, I'll just wait 'till we get back to the house; I know a handy spell that'll make your knickers bite off your-"

A snowball in his face promptly silenced him and he cursed colorfully, brushing the snow from his heavy cloak. The man that was James sniggered, stuffing his gloved hands in his coat pockets and whistling, walking toward a young woman who had appeared in the doorway of the shop they just approached.

"Sirius Black," she admonished, folding her arms underneath her bosom, "do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Leo looked the young woman up and down. Her skin was pale, and her rosy cheeks offset her gray-green eyes, which were hidden under long lashes. A strong nose and playful mouth kept her from being too gorgeous, but she was a head-turner all the same, with a curtain of strawberry blonde hair that ended at the middle of her back. He could've sworn he'd seen her somewhere.

Sirius looked up at the girl who had spoken, face flushed. Leo couldn't tell if it was from the cold or because he was blushing; he had a sneaking feeling it was the latter. "Nonsense," he grinned flirtatiously, leaning against the other side of the doorway. "I'd never kiss that prejudiced old bat… and if I did, she'd probably shrivel up and die of shock. Actually, you've given me an idea! Maybe I should…"

The girl shook her head and pushed off the door frame, walking back into the shop. She wore only a set of clingy, powder-blue robes and a yellow apron, which the two men appreciated as they followed her swaying hips into the foyer. The door shut with a jingle of bells in front of Leo's face, but he passed right through it as if it were smoke.

They were in a bar, he realized, looking around. It was small and homey, with a hearth roaring on one wall and a scattering of tables and booths surrounding it. The bar itself was situated on the wall opposite the fireplace, with at least ten stools; a lone wizard perused the _Prophet _with a Butterbeer in hand in a booth near the entrance. Paintings of various fruit and seaside cliffs dotted the walls, while yellow-checked cloths adorned the tables. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, along with a hand-painted sign that read _Murphy's Tavern._

"Busy day, eh, Alice?" James commented with a sweep of his hand as he and Sirius settled down at the bar.

"Don't get me started on that Rosmerta slag," she sighed grumpily, placing two mugs of Firewhiskey on the counter in front of the boys. "The Three Broomsticks has taken a good chunk of our patrons since she took over, and if you ask me, I'll bet it has nothing to do with the taste of her mead and _everything _to do with the size of her bosom. Now it's just me, mum, and our regulars, if that."

Leo took a closer look at Alice. How old _was _she? Running a bar with her mother, and she didn't look a day over eighteen... surely she would have been finishing school about now?

Sirius took a generous gulp from his mug and set it down with much ado. "Well, my dear Alice Murphy, you shan't have to worry about losing two of your most devoted customers. Will she, James?"

"Not in the slightest." They raised their mugs to that and drank again.

Alice batted her eyelashes, resting her elbows on the bar and leaning forward so that the cut of her robes gave them a peek down her cleavage. "Good to know, even if you_ do_ visit me less and less now that you lot are out of school." She winked at Sirius and straightened, grabbing a rag and wiping down what was an already immaculate tap. "You can also tell that to our landlord, that old Cooper Hastings, when he threatens to evict us next month because we can't break even on our expenses."

Sirius's expression changed instantly. "What? I thought you were good until the end of the term?"

Alice shrugged. "He raised our rates. There was nothing we could do… mum pleaded with him. I just feel horrid about the whole thing. Her life was this tavern, and she worked so hard for it. We have plenty saved, but not enough to keep a bar running, and at least she knows enough not to squander away our savings just to keep it alive."

Sirius looked far more distraught than James at this news. "Where will you go?"

"Abroad, perhaps. Mum's always wanted to go to the States. But we're going to stay at my Uncle Alvin's cottage in Mulberry, a few miles down the road, at least until she decides what she wants to do. Could be a year, could be more."

"Such a bummer, that is," James said solemnly, swiftly finishing off his Firewhiskey. "Apologies, Alice, but I really should go. I promised Lily I'd meet her in that blasted pink tea place to sample wedding cakes…"

Alice smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. "I never _could_ stand Madam Puddifoot's. Give Lily my love, will you?"

"With pleasure." He went through his pockets, producing several galleons and pushing them towards the bartender. "It's not charity, Alice," he said, reading her expression. "It's just for luck." He winked and turned. The door shut on his retreating form with a jingle, and she turned back to Sirius as she pocketed the coins. Something in her face had changed; Sirius's, too.

"I wish there was something I could do," he said, turning his head as the wizard by the door folded up his newspaper, put some silver on the table, and shut the door behind him with another jingle.

"It's more or less done," she said, setting down her rag and coming out from behind the bar. "We're just waiting for the final word from Hastings. It's only a matter of time." She undid her apron and draped it over a stool with a sad smile. "Why trouble yourself about it?"

"Because I won't be able to see this gorgeous face anymore," he said, attempting a weak grin of his own and tweaking her nose. She batted his hand away playfully and moved to the front of the building to turn the sign on the door from "Open" to "Closed."

"I'll still be around," she said as she came back over to Sirius's perch on the bar stool. He was at least a head taller than her from there. "I'll be just down the road in Mulberry, that's not far."

"Until you go abroad," he said, looking lost for a moment. Then he forced another smile. "You _could_ always just marry me and be done with it, you know. We could have a double wedding with James and Lily, what do you say?" He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in her scent. They held each other for a long moment, and he closed his eyes. "Please convince Abigail not to go to the States… I may have half a mind to consider kidnapping you."

Alice nestled into Sirius's chest. "You'll find yourself a proper witch," she said with a slight quiver in her voice. "Someone your mother will approve of… You don't want a Squib like me."

He pulled away from Alice and held her shoulders, looking sharply into her eyes. "Stop that nonsense. To hell with my mum… You're all I could ever want." And then he was kissing her, slowly and passionately as she stood on her tiptoes and melted into him. He swept her up in his arms and took the back set of stairs two at a time until they disappeared from sight.

Leo didn't have to follow to know what happened next. He simply stood in the foyer of the bar, in shock, with the distinct realization that he had probably just met his mother.

The floor fell away from his feet and the room spun around him in a whirl of color and light. When he landed, he was another bar, but this one was a stark contrast to Murphy's Tavern. A few coals smoldered in a fire pit, and some rickety chairs and tables dotted the room. A large window on the front wall was so encrusted with filth that you could barely see through it, and the floors were made of hard concrete. Sirius was the only patron about that Leo could see, staring into the dying flame of a candle stub, and looking quite anxious.

Thunder clapped outside and Leo realized that it had been raining quite ferociously. Suddenly, the front door burst open and a gust of wind blew out several candles. Sirius got to his feet so quickly that he knocked his chair over with a clatter; a petite, cloaked figure rushed towards him and he swept her into his arms. The hood fell back; it was a drenched and shivering Alice.

Her hair was cropped short now, ending at her shoulders, and a few soaked strands clung to her face as she sobbed into Sirius's coat. Sirius shut his eyes and held her close, stroking the back of her head with a gloved hand and kissing her hair. "Shhh…" he murmured. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here."

When her sobs subsided after a minute or so, Sirius led her over to fire pit and lifted her drenched cloak from her shoulders, draping it on a hook to dry. Alice was a far different image in this memory: the confident glow was gone from her demeanor, her lips and cheeks were no longer rosy, and her once-radiant blonde hair now hung limply about her face. Smudged eye makeup completed the picture of a thoroughly pitiful woman.

Sirius took off his gloves and enclosed Alice's hands with his, rubbing a thumb along the inside of her palm. "We can get through this, Ali…"

"I can't," she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and only succeeding in smudging her makeup even more. "I can't do this, I can't… I can't raise a child!" Her voice cracked. "I'm only eighteen, I have plans, and… and hopes, and dreams. I was supposed go to the States with mum, I…"

"You're still going to do that?" Sirius's brows knitted together and he appeared to be struggling with what to say next.

"You don't know what it's like," she whispered after a long moment. "Everyone here knows what I am… they all pretend like they don't care, but I know they judge me. Mum told me about a small island in the Gulf, near the coast of Florida… a haven of sorts, where Squibs can mingle with the magical population without fear of judgment. It's called Bahía Coralina." Tears began to fall again. "I just don't know what to do… I don't think I could ever forgive myself if we got rid of it."

Leo felt as though a heavy weight had slid down his throat and into his stomach. It was eerie, hearing his mother talk about him as though he were just a 'thing' that could be gotten rid of. He saw Sirius's face harden at what Alice had just said. "No, I couldn't let that happen, either." His arms slid around the mother of his child, and he held her as she dissolved into tears once more.

The ground fell away again, the scene rushing around Leo as if he were on some sort of light-speed merry-go-round. It stopped, just long enough so he could catch a glimpse of his very rotund mother on her back, screaming in pain in a delivery room at St. Mungo's, before it began to spin again.

Leo's feet made contact with hardwood flooring as his surroundings halted abruptly. He was in a cozy sitting-room with a much-used leather sofa and armchair. The walls were painted a sunny yellow, and a large bookcase took up half of one wall. Two men sat on the couch; one of them was James, and one of them was someone Leo didn't recognize. He had dark brown hair and a pallid complexion, with several long scars across his nose and cheeks.

Sirius sat in the armchair, smiling up at a woman with red hair and kind green eyes who was standing next to him. She cooed at the one-month-old baby in her arms, bouncing him softly. The baby was almost entirely bald, save for a small patch of dark hair on the crown of its head, and it gurgled happily, staring wide-eyed up at the woman.

"He's so precious," she crooned, thoroughly enjoying herself. James was watching her with a mixed expression of love and admiration, and Leo gathered that this was probably the Lily girl he had been going to meet in the memory before. A ring on her left hand indicated that they had, in fact, gotten married.

"Little Leo," Lily said, tapping the baby's nose with her finger. "Sirius, I always did admire your sense of humor."

The man next to James chuckled. "Did he tell you what he's decided on for a middle name? _Ophiuchus._" When she gave him a quizzical look, he clarified, "It means 'serpent wrestler."

She laughed, walking around to the couch. "Leo, I think it's time you met your Uncle Remus." She handed him over to the scarred man, who couldn't keep the look of amazement off of his face.

"James, Lily… will you be his godparents? And you too, Remus? You're as close to family as he's got…" Sirius's eyes seemed vacant for a moment. "I don't know if… if his mother will ever be back around."

"We'd be honored, Padfoot," James said as he scooted over to allow room for his wife to sit. Remus still looked slightly bewildered with infant-Leo in his arms. "So… it's true, then?"

"Alice finally packed her bags," he confirmed. "She left for the States last week." He ran his hands through his curls and then rubbed his eyes. "It doesn't feel real yet."

Lily tried hard to keep a look of distaste from her face for Sirius's sake, but Leo caught a glimpse of it. No doubt she disapproved of his mother's decision to leave her newborn, and frankly, Leo didn't blame her.

"Have you decided what you want to do?" she asked kindly, her hands finding her husband's.

"I'm worried," Sirius admitted. "None of us know what will happen in the future… I'm not a Seer. I just want him to be happy and safe… that's _all_ I want for my son," he croaked, his voice cracking.

"You have time," Remus reassured him, getting up and handing the gurgling baby back to Sirius. "You know the protection we can offer."

"He's right." James sat forward, elbows on his knees. "And when Lily and I have little ones ourselves," he grinned back at her, "they can play together, go to Hogwarts together… "

Leo couldn't take it anymore. He had seen more than enough; as he was yanked upwards and out of the Pensieve, he was shaking. He made contact with the comforter of the bed, falling forwards to his knees and shoving his face into his hands. It was wet. He hadn't even realized he had been crying.

It was all too much: seeing his mother for the first time, seeing how willingly she was able to just give him up, and then seeing the family he could have had. He knew what happened to James and Lily, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs for them, just as he cried for his father losing the love of his life, and cried for himself.


	13. Karma

A man with a rather handsome blonde mustache contemplated a newspaper from his perch on a park bench as the early-morning sun cast its first shadows down the length of Mabry Street, glistening off the layer of frost that had settled. A steaming cup of coffee sat beside him, but if you had been watching him for a while, you might have wondered why it appeared untouched, and how exactly it was still steaming even after several hours in this cold. If you had really, really been paying attention, you might've also wondered if it was just your imagination, or if that picture on the front of his newspaper had actually moved.

It was just his luck that the woman who happened to teeter past him in precariously tall high heels had done neither.

"No, I thought she had given me 'till Wednesday? Uh huh… Well I suppose I can have it in today by five, winter nail colors aren't exactly a riveting subject," she was saying in an oddly captivating accent. The man peered at her retreating form through comically thick spectacles, taking a moment to admire her backside and the long curtain of dark hair that she tossed over her shoulder as she adjusted the cell phone in her hand.

He sat up a little straighter, though, when she stepped into the street and crossed over to the building on the opposite side. He reached into his pocket and murmured something, and suddenly he could hear her speaking as clearly as if she stood next to him.

"Maura, I have to go but I'll see you in a bit. What? No I'm not… okay, maybe… Of course we're not getting back together, I'm just checking in on his cousin before I head to the office. Mmhmm. Bye!" She clicked the phone shut and stuffed it in her handbag, and he could see that in her other hand she was carrying a takeout bag from the bistro a few blocks down the road. She approached the front of the building and pressed the buzzer for unit Nine.

"Liam?"

No answer.

"Liam, I know you're home. You're never anywhere _else_ at this bloody hour."

Still nothing. She stomped her foot in frustration and buzzed again. "Liam, you selfish bastard, I brought Hermione breakfast because I sincerely doubt you're courteous enough to give her a proper one. Now let me in!"

At the mention of that name, the mustached, spectacled man gripped his newspaper so hard it nearly tore right down the middle.

The woman, whose identity he was now _very_ keen on discovering, muttered something to herself about egotistical, boneheaded exes and raised her hand to press the buzzer once more. But instead she hesitated, clenched her fist, and turned on her heel to storm down the sidewalk, lamenting aloud the amount of calories in the egg sandwich she wasn't about to let go to waste.

The man scribbled something on a spare bit of parchment he had fished from his jacket. His signature was almost illegible, but there aren't very many "Moonys" in the world, so he didn't bother himself about it. Again, if you had been paying any attention to him at all, you might have thought it odd that he appeared to have made a small paper airplane that spiraled upwards and disappeared into thin air, but luckily nobody was. He adjusted the brim of his hat, grabbed his coffee, and started casually down the road after the sound of clicking stilettos.

* * *

"How is it possible that _nobody_ in this classroom can give me even _one _of the uses of the Plangentine in 16th-century potion-making?" Professor Slughorn clutched his massive belly and raised an eyebrow at his thoroughly uninterested pupils.

Draco Malfoy sat back in his chair and stretched casually, thoughts wandering to the lunch menu for that day. Slughorn grew excited and mistook the gesture for a hand-raise. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow curiously. "What? Oh. I was just—"

But at that precise moment, a light rapping on the chamber door caused everyone to jump. Slughorn shuffled over and hesitantly opened it, letting a small parchment airplane zoom into the room. He snatched it from the air and fumbled with it for a moment, eyebrows shooting towards his receding hairline as he scanned the note.

"It would appear…" he mumbled, re-reading the note and clearing his throat. "It would appear that Professor Snape has been urgently called out of class and that I am to supervise the remainder of the examination his First-Years are taking. I suppose you're all in luck then, looks like we'll be ending this early—"

The shuffling of bags and the scraping of chairs drowned out the rest of Slughorn's sentence. The students didn't waste any time making sure they were far out of earshot before he could yell any last-minute homework assignments after them.

Draco was the only one who lingered, resting his elbow on the doorframe casually and inspecting his fingernails. "Professor," he ventured in his politest voice once the room had emptied, "is everything alright with Professor Snape?"

Slughorn retrieved his cloak from a hook behind his desk and began ushering Draco out the door. "I'm sure everything's fine, dear boy, nothing to worry about. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure some eleven-year-olds don't kill each other…" He waved his wand behind them and the lock on the door clicked, before giving Draco a curt nod and waddling off in the direction of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Once the sound of footsteps had receded, Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed the way Slughorn had gone. What could have been so important that Snape would be called away in the middle of an exam? He left the dungeons and headed up a staircase lost in thought, ignoring Pansy calling him from the entrance to the Great Hall.

Suddenly Draco fell into the banister as a disheveled-looking McGonagall shoved past him up the stairs, apologizing profusely. He wasn't sure had never seen the hag move so quickly. What the…?

Several students had also taken notice and were murmuring to each other. He took the steps two at a time through the path she had created behind her and ducked around a suit of armor on the landing, pretending he had dropped one of his textbooks. He had a clear view as Snape strode purposefully around another corner and nodded to the Head of Gryffindor, and they matched each other's pace as they disappeared in the direction of the Headmaster's office.

_Shit_. He was going to lose them. He slung his bag back over his shoulder and followed them down the corridor leading to the Headmaster's office, ducking behind another suit of armor as they came to the stone gargoyle. He brushed the wand in his pocket with his fingers and wished he was more adept at eavesdropping charms as he cast one on the gargoyle, then dashed to the broom closet on the opposite wall. "_Alohomora."_

Breathing heavily, he crouched among cleaning supplies and listened.

"… and there must be news of her whereabouts," Snape was saying.

"I just pray that it's good," McGonagall wheezed as the staircase rumbled upward. "After a month, I don't think I could take much more of this. My heart goes out to the poor girl, Merlin only knows what she's been put through."

"I'm sure Miss Granger can handle herself…." Snape's voice faded, and Draco realized the charm had already worn off.

He sat, shocked, in the dark for a minute, letting the information sink in.

_Merlin and Thor... no wonder Potter has been in such a foul state since term began. Hermione hasn't been with her family. _

_Golden Girl has been missing all this time._

* * *

Hermione felt giddy as her shoes scuffed the carpet runner at the foot of the Grimmauld Place staircase. Now that she had gotten word to Dumbledore and the others, she felt much more secure about her situation with Leo. At the very least, if she _were_ killed, she wouldn't forever be on a Muggle Missing Persons list, and her parents could have some closure.

She wrinkled her nose. Well, that wasn't very optimistic, but it was a start.

Hermione realized that she had paused in the entryway of the kitchen. The countertops were spotless and the chairs all neatly pushed in, and hand-stitched towels were draped over the oven door's handle. It was clear Molly had been here, although how long ago Hermione couldn't guess. Not long enough for the counters to collect any dust, she noticed. Although Kreacher _did_ say nobody had been by in several days.

She began to open cabinets and drawers, noting that all the dishes were washed and stacked perfectly. A tall pantry held what must have been several weeks' worth of food. Hermione smiled. _Jackpot._

About twenty minutes later, a creak of the floorboards caused her to whip around, brandishing a skillet. Leo, eyebrows raised at the sandwiches sizzling in the pan, was slightly worse for wear. The amusement in his eyes was fleeting, and he looked gaunt and disheveled. But his voice was still sardonic. "You _cooked_?"

"Well…" Hermione lowered her gaze to the meager grilled cheese sandwiches whose edges were a tad burnt. "I'm not exactly MasterChef material, but I…." she trailed off, realizing the reference to the Muggle TV show would be lost on him.

To her surprise though, the corner of his lip quirked. She had forgotten how long he'd lived in the company of Muggles as well. It was an odd sort of thing for them to have in common, but she would take anything she could get from him. She hastily attempted to save the conversation. "Are you hungry?"

He hesitated, his arms crossed in a way that suggested he was very much otherwise. But he pushed his weight off the doorjamb he was leaning on and, after several tries, found a plate in one of the cabinets. He levitated the grilled cheese from the skillet and they ate in silence.

Hermione couldn't take her eyes off him. Something must have happened to him upstairs, because he was staring blankly at the wall behind her as he chewed the burnt sandwich mechanically and without complaint. No, not _at_ the wall… _through_ it.

She was desperate to break the unnerving silence. "Is everything—"

"Everything's _fine_," Leo snapped at her, pounding the table with his fist and standing up so quickly that he knocked his chair over. "Just fucking fine." He stomped out of the room.

Hermione glared at his retreating form as she gulped down the last bite of sandwich. The dishes crashed into the sink with a flick of her wand and she strode angrily after him. "You're _ever so_ welcome for the bloody breakfast, you bastard!"

She followed the sound of his footsteps through the corridor, slightly favoring her ankle, through the double doors of a large drawing room. The heavy curtains completely obscured what would have been the early-morning sun, so all she could make out of Leo was a tall shadow. She opened her mouth to say something else to the insolent asshole, but something in his stance stopped her.

"Hermione, who is this?"

As her eyes began to adjust to the dim light, she saw was he was looking at. His gaze was fixed on the massive silk tapestry of the Black Family Tree, on the burnt hole where Sirius's face would have been woven into the elegant fixture.

Before she could realize it, her hand had gently found its way to Leo's jacket sleeve. But he didn't flinch away, and she couldn't recall exactly what it was that she was supposed to be angry about, anyway. "Well, when Sirius ran away, I suppose that was your grandmother's way of disowning him…"

"No, not Sirius. Her." He stepped closer and brushed a long finger over Bellatrix Lestrange's face, causing Hermione to shudder involuntarily. Her reaction drew a quizzical glance from Leo.

"That's… she's the one that killed Sirius, Leo. His cousin Bellatrix."

He was silent for a long moment. His finger was still resting on her golden name, and it started to tremble. He made a fist and let the hand fall to his side. His face was indecipherable.

And then, Hermione nearly had a heart attack. The poor bloke had begun to laugh.

It was a sinister, dark chuckle, one that made her shrink away from him as if he had just informed her he had some sort of deadly disease. It was a laugh that removed all doubt, if there existed any, that Leo Black had ever been a Death Eater. "There's poetry in this irony."

"How?" Hermione said uncertainly as Leo closed the distance between them.

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and fished out an envelope. "I knew she looked familiar because I met her once or twice in my experience under the Dark Lord, but she seems familiar for another reason as well." He opened up the wrinkled envelope, and pulled out three slips of paper. Two of them were identical, and they were tickets to something. Hermione made out the words _New Years' _and _Masquerade Ball _before Leo shoved the third slip of paper under her nose. It was a moving photo of Bellatrix looking over her shoulder, ascending the steps to Gringott's.

"Hermione, it's probably time I told you something," Leo said, and she was pretty sure she already knew what he was going to say. Cold dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.

"I sometimes work as a hit man, for Muggles and Wizards alike."

Hermione's eyes widened, and his attempt to stifle his sinister laughter was futile.

"It looks like I've been assigned to kill my dear old dad's own killer."


	14. James Sirius

**This chapter's a little bit of a hiatus from the typical action. Don't worry though, the next few chapters will be solid Leo and Hermione. A full moon's coming up after all… and that masquerade. Enjoy!**

* * *

She was stunning and he had been watching her all day with patience and quiet admiration, mesmerized by the way she tossed her flowing hair and the way her legs went on forever. It was hard for him to bring himself back to earth and remember why he was following her in the first place.

Remus sipped on his scotch and felt quite vulnerable. All day he had hidden behind extravagant disguises, perhaps having a little too much fun. From the postman, strolling into thebuilding that was home to _Bella_, _Showbiz_, and _Stiletto _magazines with a bogus flower delivery, to a waiter at the girl's favorite lunch spot (he had to Confund a few people to make that one work), he had already learned quite a lot about Nadine Clement. From her lunch receipt, he knew where she lived and whom she banked with, and how generous she was with her tips. As the flirty intern in the elevator, he knew that she used to bartend, owned two cats and never wore shoes with less than 2 ½ -inch heels if she could help it. As the flower deliveryman, he discovered that she was single and that calla lilies were her favorite. Yet, he still had nothing on who her mysterious ex-boyfriend was, and why he was passing Hermione off as his cousin in a run-down apartment building on Mabry Street.

Now, sitting across the pub from Nadine as no one other than himself, facial scars and all, he wondered if he should have perhaps tried another disguise. But for what he was trying to accomplish tonight, he had a feeling that he was better off in his own skin.

* * *

Nadine was having an inexplicably pleasant day, even if it had gotten off to a rocky start with her egg sandwich. It had also been difficult to refuse the offer of dessert from the charming waiter at the café this afternoon, but she tried not to think about it as she polished off her vodka soda. She sighed. _Guess I'll just have to skip breakfast tomorrow._

She often came to this pub alone, but sometimes Liam would join her. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place with a cozy atmosphere and laid-back clientele, most of whom were regulars. Which was why she was surprised when she didn't immediately notice the mysterious man sitting in the corner booth.

She played with the straw in her empty glass and eyed him discreetly. He was broad-shouldered and lean, with a crop of dark brown hair. A long trench coat was draped over the seat back, and he wore a crisp white button-down that made him appear more tan than he probably was. But what really caught her attention were the several long scars that ran across his cheekbones. _Interesting…_

He must have felt her looking at him because he chose that moment to meet Nadine's eyes. She felt the corners of her mouth tugging upward in a coy grin, and quickly looked back down into her empty glass.

It wasn't long before she heard someone come up behind her. "Is anyone sitting here?"

"You could be, if you wanted to," she said before she could stop herself. The man grinned, scars stretching slightly. He set down his glass beside her.

"It seems a shame that someone as pretty as you should be sitting here all by yourself," he said, sitting down. She could have groaned at the line, but something about the way he said it made it sound a little less cheesy. Now that he was closer, she could see that his eyes were a vivid hazel, and they were extremely kind.

"Sometimes I need a break from people," she admitted. "It's nice to come here after a long day and unwind because the university students don't know about it, and it's out of the way of the club scene. But I don't think I've ever seen you before…?

"I just recently relocated to the area," he said. "Oh, how rude of me, I'm sorry. My name's… James. James Sirius." He held out his hand.

She took it and squeezed it gently. "Nadine Clement." His hands were slightly calloused and firm. "Pleased to meet you. So tell me, James, what brings you to this side of town?"

He signaled the barkeep to bring them another round. "Oh, this and that," he offered vaguely. "Nothing exceptionally exciting, just work."

Her eyes flitted to the long scars on his face, wondering exactly what kind of work it was that he did. Where other people may have been repulsed, however, she was intrigued. She had grown somewhat fond of the bad-boy type, and wondered if he was a part of the mob, or perhaps had acquired them in an unfortunate sporting accident. Maybe he'd come across a bear on a hiking trail, or maybe… she realized that she was staring. Maybe she was letting her imagination run away with her. "I'm… I'm sorry, I'm being terribly rude—"

His eyes were laughing and he waved her comment from the air with a hand. "It's perfectly alright, I'm used to it." The bartender chose that moment to refill both their glasses and James raised his to her in an obvious effort to diffuse Nadine's discomfort. "May you never have such scars to mar _your_ beautiful face."

Nadine blushed despite herself and, feeling thoroughly sheepish, took a generous gulp from her drink.

* * *

_James Sirius? Are you barking?_

Remus could only imagine what both men would say to him if they knew he had used their names as an alias. James would pop him one on the shoulder and say it was bound to be good luck with the ladies. He imagined that somewhere, Sirius had dissolved into laughter. But he only had a second to contemplate it as an embarrassed Nadine set her glass down with squinted eyes.

"I think this was your drink," she choked with a giggle, pushing it towards him.

He looked down at the glass in his hand and realized that she was, in fact, correct. "Well, look at that. This one's on me, then." They swapped, and she pushed her straight-sheared bangs from her startling green eyes.

He had let pass the opportunity to slip her Veritaserum, and he wasn't exactly sure why. Instead, he said, "That's a very interesting accent you've got."

Her face split into a genuine smile and he relaxed his posture, relieved that they were finally getting somewhere. "I'm originally from the States. Texas, actually. But my parents grew up here, and they wanted to send me back to London for school."

"Is that so? What is it you're studying?" he asked, pretending that he didn't already know she no longer attended a university.

She wrinkled her nose at the question. "It didn't exactly… work out, if you know what I mean. I kind of bounced around for awhile, took some time out of job hunting to learn how to bartend, and that paid the rent until I decided I wasn't satisfied with my wages having a direct correlation with the amount of cleavage I showed on any given night."

Remus grinned, trying with all his might not to admire the amount that was currently peeking from her once-unbuttoned bright pink blouse. "I can't say I know how that feels," he chuckled, looking pointedly down at his own chest and earning him a grin from Nadine. Then, he realized how he could steer the conversation. "But you must have at least met some interesting people on the job?"

She sipped her drink again and rolled her eyes. "You have _absolutely_ no idea," she sighed dramatically. "I worked at several places, one of which was that club on the 16th floor of Hotel Savoy, where all the Turner and Boulstridge lawyers go. But my first gig was at this skeezy little place called Goose & Gilbert's on Charing Cross Road." Remus's heart jumped in his throat. _Bingo._ "I met some of the_ strangest _people there. Have you heard of it?"

He cleared his throat, trying to appear casual. Goose and Gilbert's had, before it closed down last year, been a sort of novelty bar for witches and wizards. It was closest Muggle establishment to The Leaky Cauldron, and many magical folk wandered in there for a taste of the popular Muggle spirits. Due to the high amount of strange accidents that occurred there that couldn't be explained to Muggle authorities, and the amount of times its employees and patrons had to have their memories modified, the Minister had decided to 'convince' the owners that they would rather pursue their life dream of raising alpacas in Peru. "Erm… I may have heard of it."

"It's the one that recently closed down because of something with the foundation—"

"Ohhhh!" Remus interrupted, feigning a sudden recollection. He had an idea; he just hoped that it would work. "As a matter of fact, I do know that place. I knew the name sounded familiar because one of my mates, Liam, said he used to frequent there, and I couldn't fathom why..."

He knew that he had her when she squirmed uncomfortably at the sound of that name. "I'm sorry… you… you can't possibly mean Liam Alexander, can you?"

Remus took a leap of faith. How long ago might they have dated? He had to have a reason for why he didn't already know her through this Liam bloke. "That's the one! Well, it's certainly a small world, isn't it? We've lost touch in the past few years, but we used to be neighbors back in the day." There. He hoped that was vague enough.

She almost seemed at ease that Remus didn't appear to know she and Liam had dated, and he was surprised at how much that pleased him. But he wasn't here for Nadine; he had to turn his thoughts to Hermione.

"What a coincidence! Liam is… well, _was_… no, _is_ my good… my, erm, friend," she finished weakly. Suddenly she found her straw very interesting.

Remus raised an eyebrow, deciding to find out how well she knew him before he revealed any more information that was potentially self-incriminating. It helped that Nadine already had several drinks in her, though. "Which is it?" he laughed. "You don't seem too sure."

"Well… we just have a bit of a rocky history, that's all," she said, taking another long sip. "But I met him when I was a server at G.G.'s. I suppose you could say he fits the demographic for that sort of place."

So, Liam Alexander was a sketchy bloke that hung around the Leaky Cauldron. That would make sense, since he was allegedly the person who had kidnapped Hermione. He certainly had to be a wizard; that much was obvious. "That's a valid point," Remus ventured, going off what he knew of how wizards behaved in the Muggle world. "Always dressed kind of funny, too…"

Nadine's eyes lit up at the subject of fashion. "Oh God, yes! Those awful steel-toed boots he always wore made me want to hurl. And that godforsaken jacket he had wasn't even real leather, it was something awful like snakeskin or something really weird, he always smelled—"

"Burnt!" Remus finished for her, blurting out one of the main characteristics of anything made of genuine dragonhide, and they shared a laugh at the expense of Liam's apparently awful fashion sense. Remus himself had never seen anything wrong with a proper dragonhide jacket, but remembering that Nadine was a fashion columnist, refrained from saying so.

"Enough about him, though," Nadine said once their laughter had subsided. "Tell me about _you_, James." Remus could see her long, manicured fingernails inching towards him along the bar, and suddenly the room felt very warm.

Luckily, he had already rehearsed a backstory—otherwise he would have found it very difficult to think of one with the way Nadine was looking at him.

"Well I've lived here most of my life. I'm adopted, actually; an only child, too." He fished through his jacket for something to tip the bartender with, mentally grasping for something interesting to say. He didn't know why it was so difficult. Usually he was rather levelheaded around women. "I travel quite a bit for my job, which is what I love best about it."

"What is it you do?"

"I work for a small software company based in Wales. I'm their senior salesman so I get to do all the legwork and go make the pitches to clients around the world."

Nadine's eyes seemed to sparkle. "That sounds _fantastic,_" she breathed dramatically, lifting her elbow to the bar and resting her chin in her hand. "I love traveling. I don't get to do nearly enough of it. Where have you been?"

"Let's see… I've been to the States quite a bit. Colombia, Canada, Thailand…" He was just listing the first countries to come to mind. "Oh, Australia. Yes, I've been there quite a bit as well. France and Germany, of course. Hong Kong. Oh, and my favorite trip of all time was Peru. The Incan ruins are absolutely breathtaking to hike through."

Yep, he had her in the palm of his hand. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed, and Remus felt rather proud of his made-up self. What a worldly, cultured fellow he was! Perhaps he was a triathlete as well? No, that wasn't believable… perhaps he _used _to be a triathlete, then? Before he got in a horrible biking accident that left him with his facial scars? Brilliant!

"You hiked in the Andes as well?"

He noticed her drink was empty again. The bartender winked and took care of it.

"Alas, that was quite a while ago when I was in better shape. My triathlete days are long behind me and I doubt I could manage it again." _Utterly seamless. Good one, Remus._

"Good Lord, is there anything you don't do?" Nadine giggled, not realizing that her glass seemed to have refilled itself.

"Sadly, I'm a dreadful bartender and an even worse fashion journalist," he sighed wistfully. Instead of earning him another laugh though, his comment was met with a dubious expression and knit-together eyebrows. _Oh, shit. She never said she was a fashion writer._

* * *

_Did I say I was a fashion writer? I must have, how else would he know? _The drinks were clouding Nadine's memory, but she was so giddy and warm from the alcohol that she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Is something the matter?" he probed, looking slightly perturbed. "That _was _a joke, I've never actually tried—"

Nadine snorted. "No, I'm sorry. I just… things are a little fuzzy at the moment." She hiccupped and James jumped slightly, knocking his glass from the counter and straight into her lap.

She squealed at the coldness, and James frantically got to his feet. "Merlin, I'm so, so sorry, Nadine."

_Merlin? What an odd expletive. _She could have sworn she'd heard someone else use it before. Must be an underground thing at the moment. "Oh, bollocks… my blouse… It's okay, James, let me just run and grab some paper towels from the loo." She eased down from the barstool, steadying herself as her stilettos met the floor, and teetered down the hallway adjacent to the bar.

Some American alternative band pumped through the speakers in the bathroom, which was empty. After she had soaked up most of the spill on her blouse, she glanced in the mirror and realized that even in the dim light, the outline of her bra was clearly visible through her newly-translucent blouse. Instead of being mad, though, she found she was rather… well…

_Is it hot in here, or what? _

Disoriented, she unbuttoned her blouse once more and leaned into the counter, checking her reflection. She wished she hadn't left her handbag on the chair… she could do with another coat of lipstick. Suddenly, she was apprehensive about going back out there.

Why? What was it with James? She hadn't been this disarmed by a guy since Liam. It was refreshing, but at the same time, well… it was hard for her to come up with a reason to be wary of him. It wasn't the scars; those she was attracted to. And he was so charming, so mysterious. But there was something else she couldn't put her finger on. Something… carnal…

No. She was tipsy, damn it. Why was she worrying so much? Isn't that why people drink? So they can forget about the things that worry them? _God, Nadine. You really just need to get laid._

She giggled at her reflection and squashed her doubts quickly, before they had a chance to fester. Squaring her shoulders and adjusting her breasts, she gave her reflection an approving grin and strode confidently back to the bar, where James was looking slightly distressed.

Before he could say anything to her, she chugged the remainder of her drink and set it down on the counter with a flourish. "What do you say we get out of here, Mr. Sirius?" She began to dig in her handbag, but a strong hand on her forearm stopped her and sent a warm jolt through her body. She looked quizzically up James, whose smile was both mischievous and reassuring at the same time.

"Oh no, Miss Clement. I couldn't possibly let you do that after I ruined your shirt. I've already taken care of it, anyway."

She returned his mischievous grin, trying not to let her face show just how giddy she actually was. "Why, Mr. Sirius, you are quite audacious." Now the alcohol was beginning to inspire her. She didn't have far upwards to lean as her lips brushed his ear. "I like it."

She could have sworn she saw his cheeks flush as he placed his long jacket over her shoulders. "Seeing as your shirt is quite…. see through," he admitted, then offered up his arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

**Nadine's not becoming a main character or anything, no worries. Multiple main OC's really aren't my cup of tea.**


	15. Denial

Hermione couldn't quite keep up with the barrage of emotions running through her. So she focused on one: incredulousness.

"You're a _what_?"

Leo's grin widened at her exclamation. He was clearly enjoying her discomfort.

"Is there anything _ELSE_ I need to know?" Her voice was growing shrill. "Have you got a werewolf wife and pups back wherever you're from? Are you ex-CIA? Maybe aliens beamed you down to create all the crop circles—"

"For Merlin's sake, SHUT UP, Hermione. Good _lord._" He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes as she audibly seethed.

"A _hit man_, Leo?" Hermione was still wrapping her head around that part of it. She hadn't even begun to consider what him being assigned to kill Bellatrix meant. All she knew was that she felt as though she needed to vomit. Ex-Death Eater, murderer, what was next? And even more shocking was that he had willingly put his own exposure on the line. "And I thought you had at least _half_ a brain."

Leo dropped his hands to his sides and looked up at her with narrowed eyes. _That's right, you son of a bitch, I just called you stupid._

"Is that so?" His mouth was set in a hard line, but his eyes were dancing.

Hermione hesitated, and suddenly his face split into a grin. A genuine, crow's-feet-creating, overlarge-canine-bearing, mischievous smile. She had never seen him look quite so… normal. It was completely disarming. For a split second, she could actually believe that Leo was his father's son.

And then she mentally pinched herself and resumed her annoyed, hands-on-hips stance. "How can you possibly look so self-satisfied right now?"

"That's the first compliment you've ever given me."

She blinked at him. _I… what? Compliment? _

"You said I had at least had half a brain, that's better than none at all—"

Impulsively she grabbed a musty pillow off a nearby armchair and chucked it at him. He was unprepared and it smacked him squarely in the face, kicking up a cloud of dust and forcing him to double over in a fit of coughs.

"Serves you right," she muttered, but had to discreetly stifle a grin with her hand. As she watched him shake the dust from his curls and jacket, an uncomfortable feeling nagged at her from somewhere in the back of her mind, reminding her that she shouldn't be acting so familiar with him. It's not like they were friends or anything, after all...

She shook her head and let her anger bring her back to where their conversation had left off. "You really don't realize how badly you've put yourself at risk, do you Leo?"

He nudged the pillow away from him with his boot and folded his arms. "You're joking, right? You're not actually going to _lecture_ me on the dangers of being an assassin, now, are you?"

When he put it that way, Hermione's courage faltered slightly. "That's not really what I meant. I was referring to exposing yourself if you were ever to get in trouble with the authorities."

"Muggle authorities are hardly any reason to be concerned," he scoffed at her.

Now it was Hermione's turn to close her eyes and rub her temples. "You really are disillusioned. _Honestly_ Leo. D'you think that strange Muggle deaths are going to just go unnoticed by the Ministry? They take Statute of Secrecy violations very seriously. Even if they can't track your wand or don't know you exist, sooner or later, someone's going to find out something they shouldn't."

"Like you did."

His voice was level but for a brief second, his eyes softened.

"Yes. Like I did."

He paused. "Well for your information, Miss Granger, I don't use the killing curse on Muggles. Only wizards. With anything, though, the key is to make it look like an accident—"

"Okay, okay, I don't need details," Hermione interrupted, holding up her hands. "I just…"

Oh Merlin. No. Oh no. This was bad. "Wait. You said _wizards?" _

"Not very often, but I'll get the occasional bid from someone who—"

"Leo, Leo... stop." Before she knew what she was doing she had her hands on either side of his face, looking him dead in the eye. Her heart jumped into her throat. "Someone _knows_."

He frowned back at her, looking equally disconcerted. "They can't know. I only exist in the Muggle world."

She realized that she still hand her hands on his face, and blushed, letting them fall to her sides. He raised an eyebrow at her, and her breath caught in her throat. She was close enough to count his eyelashes….

She snapped out of it, unable to relax and breathe normally until after putting a few steps between them. "Then how could anyone know that you're qualified and capable of killing a wizard?"

"I just assumed that they didn't know the person they wanted dead was a wizard." He quirked his lip upward as if to add, 'duh.'

Hermione's face fell. "Oh."

Leo chuckled and gave her a light punch on the shoulder. "You really do over-think things, Hermione. More often than not, the simplest answer is the correct one."

He really was infuriating. She quickly tried to think of a way to recover her dignity. "Well, it's always best to consider all possible scenarios," she said with a pout.

Leo shook his head and pocketed Bellatrix's photo, walking over to perch on the sofa and examine the other two cards that were also enclosed. In the heat of their argument, they had been forgotten. Now, he flipped them over, and the color drained from his face. "Shit, Hermione."

Uh oh. Not good. "What is it? What's the matter?"

He tossed her one.

_**The Eleventh Annual Vine Family New Year's Masquerade**_

_**[Revelio]**_

She frowned, flipping it over. The other side was blank. "That's it? What does that mean?"

"It means this," he said, tight-lipped. He tapped the invitation with his wand. _"Revelio."_

The card sprang to life and zoomed into the air, pitching and rolling as its corners folded in to create a makeshift mouth. A smooth, female voice filled their ears.

"_**The Vine Family cordially invites you to their winter estate for the Eleventh Annual Masquerade Ball to welcome the coming New Year, on the thirty-first of December at ten o'clock in the evening."**_

Hermione shared a horrified look with Leo.

She had been right. Somebody had to know he was a wizard. They knew he would be able open the invitation.

The voice continued. _**"Please observe formal Masquerade attire and present this card to the doorman for admittance. Do make note that Muggles are strictly prohibited from the premises and all necessary precautions will be taken.**_

Necessary precautions?

"_**We look forward to welcoming you into our winter manor on Otis Lane in Wellington, New Zealand. Your invitation may serve as a portkey between the hours of 9 and 11 and again at 2:30 as we fiercely discourage inebriated Apparition. Alanna, Aleck, Adrian, and Audra thank you for your swift RSVP."**_

The talking invitation spit out a small square of parchment, which floated in front of Leo's face expectantly.

"Erm… what do I do?" He looked at Hermione, who shrugged.

"We can't put our names on there, of course."

"_Our?"_

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes at him. "There are two invitations. Obviously whoever sent this to you thought you should go with someone."

"And you think that it should be you." It wasn't a question, just a dubious statement.

She sighed in exasperation and held her arms out, indicating the rest of the room. "Look around, Leo! Is anyone else lining up for it?"

"Having someone else along would just jeopardize the job," he said darkly. "I work alone."

"You don't understand who Bellatrix is, I take it. You _can't_ do this alone."

"_Au contraire, _Hermione," he hissed, taking her by surprise with his change in tone. "I don't need to know much more than the fact that she is my father's murderer, and that I'll take immense pleasure in being the one responsible for her death." His eyes glinted yellow briefly, and Hermione was sobered by the reminder of the impending full moon. This was the Leo she knew. Despite his posturing though, she wasn't about to let him win. She stood her ground.

"And, what, Leo? You think I wouldn't?" She barely recognized the voice coming out of her mouth as her own; it had a dark, dangerous edge to it that rivaled Leo's, and he sat up a little straighter. She squared her shoulders and took a threatening step toward him.

"You don't think I've dreamed of the day when I can _Crucio _the living daylights out of the woman who took the sanity, and, essentially the lives, of both parents of a very good friend of mine?" Hermione raked her fingernails through her unruly hair in frustration. "You don't think that I would positively _relish_ having my hands around the throat of the bitch who stole someone so dear to me away from this world before his time? Because if that's the case, Leo Black, you are sorely mistaken."

She began to pace, drawing courage and momentum from her burning, passionate loathing of the notorious female Death Eater. "I want to give her a taste of her own medicine," she seethed quietly. "I want to serve up her nappy-haired head on a platter and then send it in a pretty package to Voldemort himself."

And in that moment, she was quite sure she had never been so resolute about anything in her life. Like hell if he was going to keep her away from the chance to obtain justice for all the people whose lives had been ruined because of Bellatrix Lestrange.

She expected a harsh retort, but her rant was met with silence. Leo was giving her the oddest look. She stared him down, trying to discern what he was thinking behind that impassive mask of his. The tension between them escalated when his face split once more into a sinister grin.

But… _Oh, mercy, Merlin, and Thor. _This was not just a grin. No one had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her now. She had no idea what it was. It was terrifying, humbling, exhilarating, and unnerving all at once. Her heart was in her throat and the adrenaline coursing through her body didn't do much to help abate the sense of looming disaster in the pit of her stomach.

_What the hell? What is wrong with me? Get a fucking grip!_

But she couldn't. She was rooted to the spot by his dilated pupils and yellow-rimmed irises. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears and her fingertips. She was at a loss as to what was going on.

"So it speaks," Leo mused in a silky, ethereal voice. He slowly stood from his perch on the edge of the sofa. "The darkness within her finally speaks. _Finally_, Hermione, there's a little fight in you." He began to close the distance between them, and she realized a bit too late that she actually couldn't physically move from where she stood. Her head was screaming at her to run, but every muscle in her body protested when her neurons fired and tried to tell them what to do.

He was inches away from her and his irises were almost completely engulfed by yellow now. His pupils were massive. She could do nothing but stand, paralyzed by his hypnotic gaze, and overwhelmed with a sense of need that was both calming and wholly… well… carnal. And then her thoughts were no longer frantic; in fact, she had never felt so clear-headed. Somewhere in the distance, her fears were held captive and silenced.

Leo loomed over her, cocking his head to one side and inhaling her scent deeply. She thought she heard a low growl come from somewhere, but she was so far up, up floating blissfully on a cloud of secure, happy thoughts… it was all so far away from her. She was so far from the ground, lost in his eyes. Lost in the yellow.

_Yellow… _

He raised a hand to her face, twirling a lock of her honey-colored hair between his thumb and forefinger. His breathing had become ragged, but she was so deep into the yellow that it wasn't odd… no, in fact, the ragged breathing she was hearing was her own. But it was okay. The yellow was telling her that it was okay.

And then he drew a long finger down the side of her face and gently tilted her chin upwards, and Hermione felt a burning jolt move through her body at his touch, a rush of warmth that shot through her abdomen like wildfire and settled cozily in her groin.

"Hermione…"

The sound of her name was a bucket of ice water that jerked her out of the trance and knocked her backward on her arse. She looked up at the thoroughly-shocked, heavily panting man standing over her. Something within her snapped.

"_HOLY FUCK, LEO, WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN WAS THAT?"_

He backed away from her quickly as she scrambled to her feet, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and shaking his head. "I… uh… I don't—"

"You don't know? YOU. DON'T. KNOW." Each word was punctuated by a stab of her finger into his sternum. Hermione was pissed. Oh, boy, she was really fucking angry. "What are you playing at, Black?" She raked her fingers through her hair so hard she thought she'd tear it out. She was so overwhelmed and confused.

"Calm down, Hermione, please," Leo pleaded.

"I'm trying," she managed through gritted teeth. "Will you PLEASE explain to me what on earth just happened?"

Leo inhaled and exhaled deeply, briefly closing his eyes, as if he was mentally counting to ten. "It's the full moon, I think," he said wearily, after some time. "Weird shit like that will happen occasionally. I have mood swings, my libido spikes…" he shifted gears, realizing what he was saying. "I didn't know Weres could do that. Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of that to happen, just now."

Hermione felt slightly nauseous and her head pounded as if she were coming off of some really good drugs. It made her nervous that he hadn't been trying to make anything happen… what else could happen without him trying? The thought was almost as unsettling as the fact that she had almost been enjoying it… Nope. No, no, no. She quickly squashed the thought. That wasn't really her, after all. And with a slight pang, she realized it wasn't really him, either.

"I think I need some water," she managed to splutter before sprint-limping from the room. She felt Leo's gaze burning holes in her back the entire way.

* * *

Well, that could have gone better.

The wolf had retreated to its den, subdued for now, and Leo slowly found the humanity inside of him again. He wrapped himself in it like a warm, secure blanket… he was thoroughly shaken and drowning in a sea of conflicting emotions.

He slumped back down into the couch and let his head fall into his hands. Number one, he was already pissed at Hermione for being obnoxious. That was already given. He was pissed at himself for losing control like that and letting the wolf take over... but mainly, he was confused about how he could still, at this moment, feel guilty about what had transpired.

Guilt was a very, very foreign emotion to him. He didn't like it, and he didn't like what its presence was implying at the moment.

He was afraid of what would have happened if Hermione hadn't snapped out of it. They were cutting it too close now. It was getting too dangerous for him to be around her this near to the full moon. Even with the Wolfsbane potion, he was apt to be unpredictable…

Bluntly put, if things had kept on their course, he could guarantee he would have done one of two things: either ripped her fragile little body to a bloody, pulpy mess, or bent her over that armchair and…

_Oh, Gods. Stop it. That thought process is way off limits, you sick bastard._

Yeah, but that was just it, wasn't it? He _was _a sick bastard. He was a bloodthirsty animal. And nothing could ever fucking change that, could it?

_'Not even a beautiful girl,' _a soft, menacing voice hissed from deep within him. Leo froze. _'You're a fool, Leo. Don't deny who you are... what you are. Don't try to fight it, Leo...'_

The hair on the back of his neck and forearms prickled at those words, which were loud enough to him as if they had been spoken. He could see two gleaming yellow eyes just beyond the cavern of his subconscious and tried desperately to shove the wolf away. No... please, not again...

_Shut up, _he pleaded, digging his fingers into his hair. His heartbeat rushed in his ears, growing ever louder and faster as he struggled inside his head for control. _Just go away... just please, go away..._

_'You're a fool, Leo... and you will lose.' _

Something poked his forehead, jolting him out of his morbid abyss of self-loathing. He squinted, even in the dim light, as his pupils contracted back to their normal size. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. "What the…"

It was that blasted little RSVP note, fluttering around impatiently.

Oh, fantastic. He still had to figure this thing out, too. He swatted it away, attempting to focus on breathing normally again, but it simply chose dance in circles around his pounding head.

Hermione was right; he couldn't just stick his name on the damned thing. He sighed. Did he really think he could pull of this assassination on his own? She certainly seemed determined to see this through with him, and she had a good enough reason to. It not like he really had to worry about her not pulling her weight.

And she was sharp. He couldn't deny her that. It would look less suspicious if he showed up with a date, surely. The issue was just liability. It would be hard for him to keep track of her _and _Bellatrix. After all... she was still his captive and it would be the perfect opportunity for her to make a run for it.

_Captive_... He frowned. The word suddenly sounded wrong to him, but he didn't dwell on it.

He thought back to the way her fists clenched and unclenched when she spoke of Bellatrix earlier; that haunted, determined look that seemed so wrong on her sweet face, contorting her soft, rosy features into a dark mask of pure anger and loathing. No, he didn't think he had to worry about her making a run for it. He smiled to himself as he raised his wand and traced a simple number "2" on the card, which disappeared with a faint "pop" in a spurt of silvery confetti. She would definitely want to stay and see the show, and he would make sure it was worth her while.

* * *

I'm anxious to hear what you all think of Leo and Hermione's first little "moment"... As always, thanks for your feedback!


	16. Claustrophobia

**Ok, I've been gone for a while, and this chapter is short. But I wanted to post it to remind y'all that I'm still here, I haven't forgotten you, and I meant it when I said I'm not abandoning this story. My muse just needs a swift kick in the rear. I promise promise promise I'll have another chapter up soon, and a long one. Toodles!**

* * *

Hermione was submerged into darkness as she slammed the pantry door behind her. The sound of her labored breathing was amplified in the small space as she sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest.

The dam broke, and her entire body quivered with the force of her tears. She gasped for breath, letting them freely stream down her face, and almost welcoming the familiarity of the anxiety attack's suffocating embrace.

It felt as though everything she knew had shattered. Her world was collapsing around her and just shattering into thousands of tiny shards of fucked-up reality. It was almost funny to Hermione that she had felt she could make an impression on somebody like Leo. Somebody who obviously had some seriously dark, depraved issues rooted deep within his psyche. And what he had shown her just know—well, she _knew _that he was a conniving, manipulative, dark-hearted bastard, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things. Seeing it and _being held captive by it_—just standing there, helpless to fight him, even in her own head…

But that was just it. _Helpless to fight it, even in my own head. _Hermione sobbed harder at the realization that this was probably Leo's daily struggle. He probably fought that monster inside of him _constantly _for his sanity. The image of Leo sweating, screaming, and clawing at his bedsheets flashed in her mind and her heart broke at the horrific memory. She couldn't imagine not having a solid sense of self; not knowing who she truly was… not knowing which was the human and which was the monster.

She had no sense of the passage of time as she rocked back and forth in the darkness of the pantry. Eventually the invisible hands constricting her airway loosened their grip, and she gulped the cool air greedily. She hiccupped and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweater, before a whiff of something familiar drew her attention.

She fumbled for her wand and managed a hoarse "_Lumos_."

Even though she knew she was in a pantry, she was unprepared for the intense reflection of her wandlight on several dozen glass jars and bottles. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she supported herself with the door handle and rose to her feet to better inspect the contents of the shelves around her. Her nose hadn't deceived her: sitting there was a tiny bottle of Peace Draught.

She unstopped it with shaking fingers and held it under her nose, eyes nearly rolling back into her head. Just the smell was enough to bring her the rest of the way down from the precipice of her panic attack. Upon closer inspection of the consistency, she could tell it was brewed by the skillful hands of Tonks. She had never been so grateful for Molly's insistence that they keep all the standard potions on hand at Headquarters at all times. She put the stopper back in the bottle and pocketed it, knowing there would inevitably be another instance in which she would desperately need it.

Her eyes perused the row of bottles, boxes of powder, and pastes. Each was labeled neatly in Molly's delicate script. It had to be here… she knew it…. Aha!

The square bottle she had plucked from the shelf was heavier than she remembered, and she nearly dropped it. She had forgotten how dense the liquid inside it was, accounting for its unusual weight. The calligraphy on it read _Osteorea._

It was a potion of Mad-Eye's own creation, a derivative of Skele-Gro that he always touted whenever he had the opportunity to discuss the intricacies of potion-making. They had heard the story a million times over, and she was certain they'd hear it a million more.

"Well it was a grand idea at the time to try to grow ourselves some tails. There had been an article in a recent underground Auror periodical about experimenting with the formula of Skele-Gro, of which the Skele-Gro lawyers weren't very fond… well, anyway, some chemicals didn't quite agree with each other and I ended up with three extra fingers and my partner at the time, whom I had christened Barry—that wasn't really his name, but he was Russian and that was much easier to pronounce—ended up with a rather embarrassing tail. You see, it resembled a bratwurst in both length and girth, and you can imagine the stares it provoked seeing as it was merely covered in skin, and at first glance you thought it might be a—"

"_Enough, _Alastor." Molly would always cut him off at this point, her hands clapped over Ginny's ears.

Hermione chuckled despite herself. After his mishap and a trip to St. Mungo's, Mad-Eye had ended up with a combination of Skele-Gro and Essence of Dittany that was an excellent way to repair broken bones, numb the pain, and strengthen the neglected muscle around it. She rummaged around in the cabinets until she found small flask and tipped the pearlescent liquid into it, struggling with the weight of the jar. It was very full.

A pair of strong hands reached around her to hold it upright while she poured. Hermione stiffened and her breath hitched, but she was more or less trapped, with her back pressed against Leo's solid chest. Lost in thought, she hadn't heard him come up behind her. She inwardly cursed herself for being so careless, but she dared not move, she was so terrified.

Leo put the stopper back in the bottle and set it on the table, but didn't step away from her. Her heart was beating so rapidly that there was not a chance in hell he hadn't picked it up with his heightened werewolf senses. She didn't know whether to cry or bolt, so she did neither.

Still behind her, arms still encircling her but taking care not to actually touch her, Leo lifted the flask to her mouth like she was a small child. Hermione took it from him, a little more forcefully than she had intended, and tipped the liquid down her throat.

She inhaled sharply; it seared her throat with coolness, and tasted of mint. The chill raced down her spine and numbed her fingertips and toes. Her ankle burned as though it had just been submerged in ice, but only briefly, before the sound of grinding bone made her dig her fingernails into the counter. There was no pain, only numbness; and then after several seconds, she found she could bear the full weight of her body on both feet once more.

She gasped in relief, and became aware again that Leo was still behind her.

"Leo—" she started, but his hand on her arm silenced her. She began to tremble again, the episode in the living room fresh in her memory.

His voice was surprisingly soft and almost strained when he spoke next. "Please…"

Had he not been behind her, she surely would have fallen over. She couldn't recall a time when he had ever used that word with her.

"Please don't be afraid of me. I can feel you shaking."

And she was. Some of it was from the sensation of cold, most of it was from fear, and some of it was from an emotion she couldn't put her finger on. With him, it was never easy to describe or understand how she felt.

"You haven't exactly given me reason not to fear you, or trust you," she managed to croak. When did her voice get so hoarse?

Leo exhaled, a weary sort of sigh. His breath tickled Hermione's ear and she stiffened again. His hand was still on her forearm, and it was warm. Hot, really. And then his large, callused hand brushed over her smooth skin, moving up to rest on her shoulder. He left a trail of goosebumps down her arm. She didn't know if he noticed. She didn't know if she cared if he did or not.

They stood like that for several moments, both of them tensed, as if for a duel. But it wasn't a duel they were fighting with wands. She was sure he realized it by now.

"I know," he breathed, and this time she could feel his lips barely brush her ear. The knuckles of her clenched fists were white, still resting on the countertop. When she finally had the courage to turn around and face him, he was gone.

The full moon was the following night, but Leo barricaded himself in the attic all the same, reinforcing it with spells. Hermione lay in the guest room bed she had often slept in during her stays at Grimmauld Place. The familiarity of it was calming, but the feeling all but vanished as soon as Leo's whimpers and muffled howls reached her bedroom from several floors above. For young weres with only a few years of transformations under their belt, the nights leading up to the full moon were agonizing. She drew the quilt closer to her chin, knowing that neither of them was going to get much sleep.


	17. The Waiting Game

**Warning: this chapter is sexually explicit.  
**

**There is PLENTY more Leo and Hermione to come, so be patient! :) Also, thank you to waterflower20 for reminding me that Regulus was younger than Sirius, not older. I don't know how I got them mixed up!**

* * *

Remus Lupin was certain that the night before had been a dream.

He sat on the edge of an enormous bed, elbows resting on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. The bright sunlight spilling across the plush, white comforter did nothing to ease the splitting headache that pulsated at his temples. He slowly rose from the bed, steadying himself on a mauve slab headboard. Where on earth…?

_Oh. Right._ It hadn't been a dream, after all.

Blinking and rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, Lupin drank in the furnishings around him. A large white throw rug with an abstract mauve and yellow pattern covered most of the dark wooden flooring in the bedroom. The walls were a stark white, save one, which was a bright yellow. One of the walls was entirely covered by a built-in shelving unit crammed next to a desk, which was littered with sample-size makeup and magazines. Another wall, facing the street, was almost entirely taken up by a massive window, which was covered in sheer mauve drapes. He counted three doors down a tiny corridor, which he assumed led to the rest of the flat, a closet, and a bathroom. A small antique chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling in place of a fan. And in the bed, which took up most of the cramped space in the room, the most exquisite Muggle he had ever met was peering up at him through long lashes.

Or rather, not at his face. She grinned sleepily as her eyes roamed south, and for the first time, he realized that he was completely naked.

Nadine sat upright and stretched, letting the comforter fall from her hands. He realized she was completely naked, too. _Merlin._

"It's kind of late to be sneaking out, don't you think?" she said with a giggle. Lupin was frozen where he stood, lost for words as Nadine crawled towards him on the bed like a cat. Somehow she managed to look so innocent even with her body so obviously on display. With the full moon that night, it was all he could do to stifle the wolf inside of him at the sight of her beautifully toned ass in the air.

His hangover was forgotten as she reached his side of the bed and pulled him closer. He realized he was standing at full attention, only vaguely aware of anything else around him as her warm mouth descended around his morning wood and coaxed a moan from his lips. "_Gods_, Nadine." It was the first thing he had said all morning. "Oh, fuck."

She relaxed her throat and let him in deeper, gagging slightly on his girth. Lupin's eyes rolled back into his head and his rough hands found the back of her head, entwining in her thick locks as he slowly rocked his hips forward and lost himself in the wet heat of her skilled mouth. He stared, mesmerized, as strings of saliva dripped onto her full, pale breasts and hardened pink nipples.

Nadine pulled back and ran her tongue around the head of his swollen member, taking the opportunity to grin up at him devilishly. He couldn't take it anymore. With growl, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her back onto the bed.

* * *

He tossed Nadine like she weighed nothing, and she barely had time to marvel at his strength before he was on top of her, forcing apart her legs and trailing his teeth down her thighs. He sucked and nibbled on her pale skin, sometimes biting softly and other times just enough to make her cry out in pain but not enough to break the skin. She knew she would bruise, but she was writhing in anticipation by the time his tongue found its way to her lower lips and parted them. He drew lazy circles around her clit, teasing her, then flicking it and making her cry out again; then buried his tongue inside of her. Her hands ran through his hair but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them with a growl.

"Please, James," she whimpered. He stopped, looking up at her with striking yellow eyes, and shook his head before descending on her again. _Wait, what? His eyes were hazel… _but the thought was barely even coherent in her own mind.

He brought her to the edge several agonizing times but wouldn't let her go over. He held her pinned for what felt like hours as she writhed underneath him and pleaded, said his name, over and over again. Finally, he pulled back and grinned at her. She would have let him do anything to her right then and there, with that twinkle in his eye and her juices dripping down his chin… he was so damn sexy.

She said his name one more time, as if asking a question, and before she realized it he had flipped her over and sunk into her from behind.

Nadine gasped at the fullness of him. What he may not have been blessed with in length, he more than made up with in girth, and the stretch she felt was delicious and incredible. His rough hands grasped her hips and spanked her for good measure. She was surprised at how audacious he was being, but soon lost herself in his agonizingly slow thrusts, gripping the comforter with white-knuckled fists and squealing into a throw pillow. He seemed energized by her high-pitched moans and picked up the pace. The sound of slapping skin filled the tiny room and she knew she wouldn't last. Already on the precipice of her orgasm from before, she fell to pieces as the waves of pleasure took her and made her entire body shudder with the force of them. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream as she contracted around his cock. He gripped her waist harder and thrust more fervently as she rode out her orgasm, moaning loudly as he pulled out of her and spilled his seed on her reddened ass cheeks.

She collapsed on her stomach and he fell beside her, both of them panting hard and staring at each other for a long while. She noted that his eyes had faded from yellow to hazel—perhaps it was a trick of the light.

He cupped her face and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Nadine thought it was odd how he could be so domineering one moment and soft the next as he got up and grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom so she could clean herself.

"I'm on the pill," she mentioned as an afterthought, grabbing a dressing-gown from a hook in her closet. James nodded as he found his discarded boxers from the night before. Nadine handed him a bath towel from the closet and told him he could shower if he wanted.

He wrinkled his nose at her. "Maybe you should join me, you smell."

She giggled and swatted him with the towel. "I was going to make you breakfast, but now I don't feel like being nice."

"I had breakfast already," he said with a wink. Nadine blushed. "But you could join me for lunch?"

She was shocked for a moment, but saw that he was serious. Not that she was used to one-night-stands, but she was also unaccustomed to having a bloke stick around for longer than he needed to. It was almost… refreshing. "I suppose we did work up a bit of an appetite," she said slowly. What was the big deal? It was just lunch, after all.

He grinned at her, and she found it contagious. "Wonderful." He dropped the boxers in his hand and she untied her robe slowly, letting it slink to the floor and giving him a playful smile. James offered his arm to her and she cracked up at the pretense but took it, and let him escort her to the shower.

* * *

Harry stared after Ginny's silhouette, imagining running his fingers through the thick auburn locks she had let fly free on that biting December afternoon. She was an angel; of that he was fairly certain. She had been a rock for Ron and Harry these last few weeks, her optimism about Hermione never faltering. He had no clue how she did it, how she managed to be such a bright light among all the doom and gloom surrounding her. It was truly a gift.

A smack on the back of his head shook him from his daze. "If you're going to check out my sister, you could be a little more discreet about it when I'm around," Ron sulked, taking another bite of his pheasant stew. They were having lunch in Hogsmeade at Talulah's, an old inn across from The Three Broomsticks that used to be a tavern, according to Mr. Weasley, but had been remodeled when it was sold two decades ago. It was a cheery place, but it was a little modern for Hogsmeade, Harry thought. It was frequented by an older crowd, and they were less likely to be overheard by their peers here, which is why he brought Ron.

The photograph he had found in Malfoy's bedside cabinet was nagging at him. He had already sent a copy to Lupin this morning with a letter full of questions, but since Lupin was part of the team searching for Hermione, he didn't anticipate a prompt response. In the meantime, he thought maybe he could pick his best friend's brain for some insight.

He stole a last glance at Ginny through the window, who was pelting her current beau with snowballs. Some seventh-year named Erick. "I hate him," he said flatly.

"You've never met the bloke," Ron pointed out, but this time it was Harry's turn to smack him on the back of his head. He sputtered, choking on a hunk of pheasant, and gesturing wildly for Harry to do something as his face reddened.

Harry flicked his wand. "_Anapneo_." Ron gasped, his airway clear, and panted dramatically.

"You buggering idiot, you could've killed me!"

"Not likely," Harry said. "You're too hard to kill. Could you imagine going through everything we've gone through since we've been at Hogwarts, surviving Death Eaters and Acromantulas and Basilisks, only to be killed by a bite of pheasant stew? Voldemort would have a fit."

He must have been talking loudly because a hush fell over their section of the café at the mention of Voldemort's name. He shrugged it off; it was nothing new. He didn't care much about anything lately anyway.

"Oh, sod off," Ron grumbled at the patrons whose eyes were now glued to their table. "Fear of a name…" he paused, realizing what he was saying, and who he was quoting. "Oh, gods. Now I sound like Hermione."

Harry had half a mind to point out that Hermione had been quoting Dumbledore when she said that, but decided to let Ron go ahead and feel emasculated. He took a bite of his untouched stew. It would have already been cold were it not for the warming charm on the bowl.

"So you mentioned that you had something to show me?" Ron asked after a short silence.

"Yeah," Harry said, perking up a little and fishing through his pockets. "Remember Lupin's letter and how he basically encouraged me to go snooping? Well I wound up in the Slytherin dormitory the other night, and I was going through Malfoy's things—"

"You _what_? Without me? You're no fun," Ron sulked. "I would've loved the chance to leave a present on his pillow."

"Well I definitely considered it," Harry said, pulling the folded photo from his jacket. "But I found something... well, disturbing, to say the least. Have a look." He unfolded it and pushed it across the table.

Ron peered at it for several long moments and picked it up to look closer. "Blimey, Harry. Who's that with Malfoy?"

"That's the question," Harry said, lowering his voice. "I haven't a clue. But does he remind you of anyone?"

Ron frowned, and then his eyes widened. "But… but it can't be Sirius, that's impossible. Look how young Malfoy is."

"Well I _know_ it's not Sirius," Harry said in frustration.

"It can't be Regulus either," Ron said, still peering intently at the picture. "He was younger than Sirius, but not by this much."

"D'you think he had another younger brother? One that nobody knew about? It could be a half-brother, maybe?"

"No idea," Ron sighed, handing the photo back to Harry. "Did the original have any writing on the back? Sometimes my mum does that with photos, writes who is in them."

Harry could have hit himself. "You're right. _Merlin,_ I didn't even think to look. Crabbe and Goyle came in and distracted me. I wish I had used a duplication spell instead of a transcribing one, all it did was copy the image and not the physical photo itself…"

"Well we can get back in there and look," said Ron excitedly, suddenly energized at the idea of breaking into the Slytherin dormitory.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair. "I don't know," he said, to Ron's surprise. "It took me an hour at least to undo the protective spells around his stuff and the bedside cabinet, and another to re-cast them the way he had. It was tricky. I thought it was strange though that the cabinet was so heavily warded when there was nothing important in it. Just the photo album I got that picture from."

"I think it's worth a shot," Ron pressed. "Have you shown this to anyone else? Anyone from the Order? Dumbledore?"

Harry had initially considered going to Dumbledore, but something held him back. "I sent it to Lupin," he said finally. "He's really the only one who has been keeping me in the loop about Hermione. And he's the only Marauder left. If anyone knew any of Sirius's secrets, it would be Moony. I just have no idea how long it will take Hedwig to find him. I know she will, she always does… but he hasn't been keen on telling me his whereabouts lately."

"So now we play the waiting game?" Ron said with a resigned sigh.

"It looks like it," Harry said sullenly, stuffing the photo back in his pocket. He glanced at the clock above the bar. "We should probably be heading back. We have the Quidditch pitch booked at five."

They tossed a few knuts on the table and shrugged on their scarves, hats, and gloves, bracing themselves for the relentless December wind. Outside, flurries of snow swallowed the forms of meandering townspeople until they were nothing but shadows.

* * *

"The problem, Minerva, is that I don't know when Harry is more apt to be reckless: if he knows Hermione is safe but being cryptic about the circumstances, or if he thinks Voldemort actually has her."

McGonagall surveyed the weary headmaster through her spectacles. She seldom saw him as worn-down as he appeared in front of her now. His usually well-kempt beard was disheveled and his cap was slightly askew. He was in the same wrinkled set of robes he had been wearing the night before. "Have you slept at all, Albus?"

"Sleep is practice for death, Minerva."

"Which you will find creeping up on you far more quickly with the way you're handling this mess. Let me at least fetch Horace to fix you a Sleeping Draught—"

"I think telling Potter might be the most prudent course of action, due to some bothersome developments in this little situation," drawled a nasally voice from the doorway of Dumbledore's office. McGonagall jumped, having not realized he was listening in. Snape pushed off the wall he had been casually leaning against and sauntered into the foyer, but his sharp eyes contradicted his nonchalant affect. "Headmaster, if I may, we do have another annoyance to address. In the form of a certain loud-mouthed Malfoy."

"Do Mr. Malfoy's adolescent antics really need our attention this minute?" McGonagall was trying to maintain her composure, but her voice was borderline shrill.

"Minerva, if you might go fetch something from Poppy that will help me sleep, I would be much obliged. See if you can take something to calm your nerves as well," Dumbledore said, not unkindly. "We're all on edge, and I'm anticipating I'll be in the mood for a nap after this conversation. I'll fill you in over supper."

She looked slightly affronted but gave them both a curt nod after a pause, understanding that Dumbledore meant to be alone with the professor. She exited the room with a dignified sweep of her robes.

Snape's lip quirked in a half-grimace, half-smirk, as he turned his attention back to the old man in front of him. "It appears he's discovered that Miss Granger is a little runaway, after all."

Dumbledore let out a weary sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you certain? How do you know?"

"I had to find out from a very self-satisfied Lucius Malfoy, who wondered why I had not yet alerted the Dark Lord of this… mishap," he said, folding his arms. "Of course I conveyed that the Dark Lord had indeed been informed, but whatever plans he had were yet to unfold and that Lucius would do well not to question matters that were obviously over his head."

Dumbledore nodded, playing with the bauble in his long beard and staring off into his own thoughts. "Of course you understand this now means you must tell Voldemort of her disappearance."

"Yes," he managed through gritted teeth. "It will be difficult to mislead him as to my knowledge of her whereabouts, but I have confidence I can feed him false intel for several weeks without arousing suspicion. Which, by then, I would hope we have the girl back. Otherwise, I can't guarantee she will stay safe, Albus."

"Yes, I know." Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose again. "But then again, we aren't very confident in her safety as it is, are we?"

* * *

**Uh oh. Lupin and Nadine are pretty cozy, huh? I wonder what that means for Leo/Liam. How will he react to Harry's letter, and what exactly is Voldy going to make of Hermione's disappearance? Stay tuned...**


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